


Without you, I'm Stronger, I'm no Longer filled with Wonder

by Jassy



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:29:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27960812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jassy/pseuds/Jassy
Summary: Another post-mountain fic (such fertile grounds they gave us!) Jaskier's father dies and, having just been summarily told to fuck off by Geralt, Jaskier sees no reason not to take up the title of Count de Lettenhove.It all just kinda gains its own momentum from there.
Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 107
Kudos: 500





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this thing took hold and has been fighting for brain space with Screaming and All Unwoven. Like those are pretty heavy on the angst, and I wanted a Jaskier that was just like 'fuck you too, Geralt, Imma go do my own thing with blackjack and hookers' only there's no blackjack and hookers here, but Eskel snuck in and was all 'hey, you're pretty cute' so that's a thing, and just as fair warning, i am 53,000 words in and Geralt and Jaskier are not exactly behaving in the communication department, so that pairing might end up being unrequited EVEN THOUGH I WANT A HAPPY THREESOME FOR OUR BOYS but Jaskier often takes a left turn on me and does something different than I intend. So. Hope you enjoy this thing that won't leave me alone and keeps growing and growing.

Jaskier desultorily took notes from the rest of the party about the battle, but Geralt’s words wouldn’t stop ringing in his ears. He knew that his friend was hurting and angry and maybe even a bit ashamed of what he’d done, but it didn’t make the vile things he’d said any easier. Part of him kept expecting the other man to wander over and, not exactly apologize, but sort of gruffly demand whether he’d finished chatting and could they get on their way already. But he didn’t. Jaskier lingered as long as he could bear, hoping for… _something_ at least, but when his will broke and he drifted back, he found Geralt already gone.

Morose, he started to make his own way down the mountain. There was a bright flash of light that made spots dance in front of his eyes for a bit. When his vision cleared, he found a scroll, tied with a silk ribbon, laying on the path in front of him. It was addressed to him – his birth name, actually, and the sight of it somehow made his stomach sink even further. He picked it up with shaking fingers and yeah, his day had just gotten exponentially worse.

It was from his aunt. His father was dead, and he had been summoned home to take the title and rule of their lands.

If the message had arrived a few hours or a day ago, he might have written back, renounced the title and given leave to his eldest cousin to take over instead. But it wasn’t hours or a day ago, it was now, and the joy had already been leached from his life. Geralt had well and truly told him to fuck off, and disappearing like that after seemed to mean that he’d truly meant it. What point, then, continuing to wander about, singing songs about a man who held him in such contempt? And no one else had inspired songs in him like Geralt did. A bard who didn’t compose anymore, or at least, didn’t compose anything of worth, and the melancholy tunes floating in his mind and heart were likely to bring tears but not coin, didn’t last long.

The message had contained a small vial which, if his aunt’s note was to be believed, would transport him home when broken. Either that, or she had paid someone to kill him, and at this point, he wasn’t sure he cared. It would make a lovely, tragic song for someone if she had – the poor, broken hearted bard, cast aside by his dearest love and then murdered for his fortune.

If _he_ wrote such a song, it would have an inspiring ending, with the cruel lover learning the bard’s fate and, all overcome with remorse and grief, went on to avenge the foully slain bard.

In his case, there was no tragic murder, just the promised transportation spell.

He blinked around his family home in a bit of shock. At least his aunt had paid a decent mage for a decent spell. He hadn’t felt much of anything with that. Probably she should have warned the family steward that he was likely to appear in the foyer out of thin air, as the man was aged and looked ready to keel over where he stood.

“You alright there, Aidan?” he asked, concerned. “You’re looking rather gray around the edges.”

“M-master Julian! By the gods, how did you –“

“Aunty Trin,” he explained. “She sent word that father passed and paid for a spell to get me home quickly. What happened? Was he ill?”

Color started to flow back into the older man’s cheeks. “No, sir, no your father wasn’t particularly ill. But he was rather old. The healer said his heart stopped in the night. It was quick, she said, and painless.” He took a deep breath and finally bowed. “Welcome home, Count Pankratz. You have been missed.”

“Not by many, I’ll wager. When did he pass?”

“Just yesterday. Your aunt is seeing to the funeral.”

“Alright. My measurements haven’t changed since I was last here. Please arrange for appropriate clothing to be made. In the meantime, have a bath and a meal sent up. It wouldn’t do to meet with Aunty covered in road dust.”

“Of course, sir.”

Jaskier went up to his old rooms and found them just as he’d left them, not even dusty, which showed that either the staff still routinely took care of it or his aunt had sent someone to prepare it for him, anticipating an obedience that he really wasn’t known for.

Probably the staff kept it clean as a matter of course.

He laid out a set of clothes, fine enough if several years out of date, and carefully placed his lute in the corner by the bed. His songbook went into the drawer in the desk. He _would_ write the song of the White Wolf’s battle to save the dragon egg, it would just be a bit delayed.

Staff started to stream in, some with steaming dishes, still others with steaming buckets that were taken into the bathing chamber. None looked him in the face, heads bowed and covered with black cloth. He frowned as he watched them, noting the worn, mended clothing they were dressed in. The tired eyes and the slumped shoulders.

The food at least seemed up to the standards he remembered, and he ate his fill before wandering in and stripping down for his bath. It was a far cry from bathing in streams or the small wooden tubs that could be found at inns, and he lingered a bit, partly in enjoyment and partly to put off having to talk to his aunt. She had always, somehow, disapproved of him even more than his father had.

When he finally dragged himself out of the large tub and dressed and left his rooms again, he found a footman waiting nearby to take him to his aunt. She had set up in his father’s study, looking much like she owned it. Her brown hair was steaked with gray these days and done in a severe coif that made her face look pinched and sour. Well, _more_ pinched and sour. She wore stark black, but then she’d worn stark black since her husband had died a number of years ago, ever the dutiful wife mourning her husband, though theirs had not been a love match.

“Aunt Trin, you’re looking well,” he said, offering her a shallow bow.

“Hmph. You couldn’t even be bothered to dress appropriately?”

“Madam, I arrived just a couple hours ago. As I recall, the local tailor is good, but he is no mage to whip up mourning clothes in an instant. Aidan should have already placed the order,” Jaskier said patiently.

“And yet the clothes you wear are several years old.”

“Again, madam, the tailor is no mage. The clothing that I have that is clean is several years old. Would you prefer that I wore my dirty clothes, smelling of sweat and dust? Now, enough about my clothes, Aunty. There is a funeral to plan, is there not?”

She leaned back in the chair, the family blue eyes fixed on him coldly. “I did not expect you to actually do your duty and return. Too busy chasing a mutant around the Continent. But you’ll be easy enough to fit into the funeral plans.”

“As heir, I believe it’s my duty to plan it, actually. Please, inform me of what you have already arranged, and I will finish. I am certain my cousins need their loving mother at such a trying time.”

She sucked in a breath and narrowed her eyes. “Julian. I expect you to hand over the title. We all know you are not suited to it.”

“Aunt Trinea, I’m afraid I’ll be disappointing you yet again. I will not be giving up the title. I will take up my duties as Count. If you are very lucky, I may find one of your sons or grandsons an acceptable heir. If not, why then, I shall just have to find myself a bride and beget my own,” he told her flatly. Before the mountain, he would have done as she wanted without hesitation. This felt too much like his own destiny for him to try to dodge it.

And if it wasn’t, well, he wouldn’t be the first person in history to comfort himself with the lie.

“This is unbelievable,” she snapped.

“Yes, well, you look hale and hearty. I’m certain you will have a long time in this world yet to come to believe it. Now, did you want to share what arrangements you had already made, or should I just go about making my own and let everyone wonder why your plans were canceled?” A move that would utterly humiliate her, as it would say very clearly that he had put her in her place, and that place was without authority in the family.

“Very well,” she eventually gritted out. In terse, clipped words, she outlined what arrangements had already been made. She had actually accomplished quite a lot, which wasn’t a surprise. She’d always had a formidable will, and brooked no slacking or failure, much as his father had been. And it was all perfectly correct, of course, every detail precisely suited to the death of a Count. Jaskier ordered just a couple of changes, mainly about the feast that was to take place to celebrate and honor the dead lord (honestly, naught but bread and ale for the staff, for the farmers and townsfolk who had looked to their family for generations? An insult to all of them that he wouldn’t allow, and damn the expense) but left the rest alone. He conveyed the changed orders to Aidan and then moved on. There were three days yet before the funeral, before his father would be laid to rest in the family crypt, and Jaskier had been gone for over a decade.

In the days leading up to the funeral, Jaskier made a thorough inspection of the house and immediate grounds. The house (more like small fortress, built as it was to withstand at least a short siege, back in the day) was in excellent repair. The stables as well, and the horses all healthy. The grounds were well tended, with both the leisure garden and kitchen gardens lush and blooming. A fast look through the account books showed that the coffers were more than full, they were overflowing.

So why, then, were the staff so shabby? Oh, the clothes themselves had been well made. His mother had insisted upon it. But they were old, and often repaired rather than replaced, and the pinched looks of the staff showed they were unhappy, and it was a mood that had been going on longer than his father’s death. But they were already being run ragged in preparation for the funeral, and with his aunt still in residence, didn’t dare take the time to sit and speak with their new lord for fear of the tongue lashing she would offer later. But after the funeral….

The day of the funeral, Jaskier dressed in his new mourning clothes, and led the procession from the temple to the family crypt. The streets were lined with mourners, as was expected when the local lord died, but Jaskier couldn’t help but notice that no one looked terribly sad. And fair enough, he wasn’t exactly weeping into his ale either, but you usually saw at least an _attempt_ at sadness during one of these things. Most of the folk simply look…resigned.

They were a little livelier after his father had been interred, with all the correct blessings from the local priestess, and the mourning feast was brought out. They were feeding hundreds, and while yes, the bread and ale originally ordered by his aunt would have been correct and fulfilled the obligation, it was clear that the roasted meats, sharp cheeses, and steamed vegetables were far more welcome. He was getting many looks, less resigned and more appraising, and he finally started looking at things like a traveling bard rather than a reluctant heir doing his duty.

Had he wandered into this town as a bard, he would have noticed the lush, fertile fields, and the poorly dressed townsfolk, and instantly seen a skinflint lord. Farmers taxed to near poverty, only allowed to keep a subsistence amount of their crops to keep them alive but not prosperous. Tradesmen paid for raw materials only, and not the actual labor of their hands. It would make sense if there had been plague or blight, but nothing like that had hit anywhere in Kerack in decades.

After the feast and the last of the official funeral duties were done, Jaskier pulled Aidan aside. “How long has this been going on?” he asked flatly.

“Master Julian?” Aidan widened his eyes and tried to look confused.

“Don’t, please. You’ve worked here your whole life. When I left, no one looked half-starved and threadbare. The fields are splitting at the edges with crops. So why do our people look as they do? Why are their homes in disrepair, their spirits so low?”

Aidan sighed. “It is the day your father was laid to rest. It is an ill omen to speak ill of the newly dead.”

“Then speak no ill, only truth.”

Aidan hesitated, and then nodded. “With respect, M’lord, you haven’t been back since your mother passed. She handled the family accounts while she was alive. Once she passed, your father looked over the books and decided that she had been too generous. He didn’t feel that the farmers should make a profit on what they grew for him and the crown. The tradesmen should not make a profit off the work they did for him. Profit was to be made off of strangers, not the family, and so he would only pay for the raw materials. The extra crops the farmers grew…well. What wasn’t sent to the crown, and what wasn’t needed for the household, _was_ sold, but the profit was, by law, his, as the lands they were grown on were his. Normally, the farmers were paid for their labor, but.”

“But they were not owed that, as he allowed them to keep living here and working the fields,” Jaskier said flatly. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Okay. First thing in the morning, I want all of the account books brought to me. I am going to do a full audit. In the meantime, I want you to send for the tailor. Everyone needs new clothing. Make certain you pay half upfront, and not just for the material. Half the estimated labor as well. Bring me the local barkeeps as well, they always have the best gossip.” He put a reassuring hand on the old man’s shoulder. “I intend to make up for my father’s…well. Things will be run differently, now.”

“As you wish, sir.” It might have been a trick of the light, but Jaskier thought there might have been a bit of a spring in the old man’s steps as he walked away.

His aunt had more than a few words for him the next morning, when she found him seated at his father’s desk with the enormous account books open in front of him.

“What is this I hear about you ordering new clothes for the servants?” she demanded without so much as a good morning.

“Well, I noticed their clothes are all old and too often mended. They need new clothes. And so I have ordered new clothes. It seems simple enough to me. Where is your confusion?”

“My confusion lies in wondering why you intend to waist family money on servants,” she flared. “Their clothing is fine – were they less clumsy, they would not need to repair them, but that fault is with them and is not our responsibility to address.”

“Is it not?” he raised an eyebrow at her. “Well, we shall have to agree to disagree on that point.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, boy, I changed your nappies!”

“No, you did not. That would have been my nanny.” He smiled fondly in remembrance. His nanny had been a lovely woman, always smelled like fresh baked bread.

“You know what I mean.”

“I do. So let me make my meaning clear, Aunty Dearest.” He stood up and planted his hands on the desk, so that the ring that showed his family crest, the symbol of his station and authority, glinted in the sun shining through the windows. “I am now the head of this family. The house you and your children live in, the money that pays for your clothes and your food and your jewels now comes from **me**. If I so choose, I could banish the lot of you, on a _whim_. I may not agree with the laws of the land, but I _am_ well versed in them. And so I shall run this family as I see fit, and I will pay the staff that has served us, that prepares our food, washes our fine clothes, and sees to our homes and grounds, a fair wage, and part of that is making certain they have decent clothing. That is _our_ responsibility. We were born into positions of power, yes, but also of trust. If we do not keep up our end of the relationship, why should they? Now, if you wish to keep that fine house, your fine clothes, and all the rest, I suggest you return there and keep your mouth shut.”

“In all my years….” She shook her head. “Your father never should have allowed you to go to university. It gave you some very odd notions.”

“Oh I’m sure – things like paying a fair amount for service and goods. Very odd notion. Now, I’m sure you’ve packing to oversee, so I won’t keep you. You may let your own staff know to expect me at some point in the future – you know what? Never mind. I’ll send Aidan with you to retrieve _your_ household accounts to bring back to me. I’m doing a full audit, you see, and I’ll need all the information so I know what gaps need addressing first.” He waved a hand at her. “Run along, Aunty.”

Lips thinned to invisibility, she turned on her heels and stalked out.

Aidan wasn’t exactly overjoyed to be riding four hours round trip, but he understood why. No one else in the house held the authority that he did, and so his aunt’s household staff would not cooperate with anyone else. As Jaskier’s proxy, they were _all_ under his authority, because it was ultimately Jaskier, not his aunt, that paid their wages.

Jaskier wasn’t thrilled either. It meant more heavy account books to go through, after all. He hated it, every last damned minute of it. He was used to minding his own purse, and no one else’s. But he did in fact have the training needed, though it was somewhat dusty, to go through the heavy volumes and pinpoint exactly when his father had begun to play the skinflint. And Aidan had been correct; within a month of his mother’s death, the amounts paid for goods and services dropped like a rock into a ravine. He even found where there had been unexpectedly high crop yields a couple years and his father had misreported to the crown, selling the excess to line his pockets further. Jaskier had to move that to the top of the list to address, since if the crown got wind on their own, their entire family was going to be fucked.

When he finished the audit, he made the laborious journey under the house, to the bespelled vault that would only open for the current lord. It would take a dozen mages a great deal of time and power to break in, and his father had made use of every inch in the space. It was…an incredible undertaking, to go through it all, and verify the contents matched the ledger.

In between all of that, he started meeting with the townspeople, starting with the barkeeps. They were suspicious, and he didn’t blame them, but they at least gave him the bare bones of the town’s needs. The town had one healer, who attended to the alderman’s sickly son almost exclusively, save where Jaskier’s father had requested her presence. And there was not money enough anywhere else to pay another healer to attend to everyone else. They had been relying on their own collective knowledge to patch each other up, and so far they were mostly okay, but a couple of folks’d had breaks that hadn’t healed quite right, and one man lost some fingers to frostbite since the healer was too busy attending the alderman’s son to come tend to him.

So, another healer, or the one they already had needed to broaden her patient list, and a general increase in the money they made from the Pankratz household. It was all well and good for his father to claim the townspeople should make money off of strangers, but Lettenhove wasn’t on a trade route. Travelers through town were few, and mostly merchants there to _sell_ rather than buy, providing those raw materials the locals needed but couldn’t gather themselves.

He met with the alderman, who was an arrogant little prick who instantly started kissing his ass and making excuses as to why Jaskier’s new round of orders – advertising for a new healer among them – weren’t feasible, and certainly nothing his respected father would have ordered. Jaskier listened and nodded and then repeated his order, with the stipulation that if that man couldn’t grasp the concept of changes, then he would appoint someone who could in his place.

The orders were carried out.

Slowly, over the course of weeks and then months, Jaskier saw changes. The household staff were the first, faces brightening as their meals were increased to decent sizes and their clothes were replaced, and they started to have a bit of spending money in their purses again after their raises. In the farms around them, the changes were a little slower to show; their work was _hard_ and had been done for years on subsistence levels of food for all that time. But the children’s cheeks rounded out rapidly, once Jaskier reallotted how the food was distributed, and opened up hunting in the family’s forest.

Half of the back taxes Jaskier had dispatched to the crown were returned, with thanks for his honesty and condolences on his aged father’s death – his advanced age _obviously_ being the reason for the noted shortages. Jaskier wasn’t a master bard for nothing and had been very careful with the wording of his missive to the crown taxmen. Jaskier divided up what was returned and sent an equal share to every family or household in Lettenhove.

In town, thanks to Jaskier, folk were also walking taller. The household now paid not just for raw materials, but for labor as well, and the tailor was doing a fine business in updating people’s wardrobes. The weaver was working at double time to produce the cloth he needed, and the dyers as well, and all their efforts were being paid for fairly now. The taverns were seeing an uptick in business, as folk actually had the money to pay for beer for a change.

When the harvest came, Lettenhove was able to send its full share of grain to the crown to fulfill their taxes, there was surplus to sell to other holdings, and enough to see everyone comfortably through winter and into spring.

There was, if you looked very closely, a very tiny dent in the vault beneath the house, but it was so small as to be barely noticeable. Jaskier had been indifferent towards his father for years; he had been closer to his mother, and it was at her bidding that he’d gone to university, and so his death had not meant much to him. By then, he felt it was a blessing. Lettenhove should always thrive – they were a sturdy people, they knew their crafts, they made the most of their resources, and they should never have fallen into a state of poverty as they had.

So Jaskier was proud of himself. He was proud of the people around him, who had held on and supported each other through the trying times his father had imposed on them, and then flourished when given the chance.

It didn’t stop the heartache that he carried with him, every moment of every day, missing Geralt and life on the road, following where the monsters and music led them. And maybe what he had done hadn’t been as flashy as what Geralt did – no grand adventure, no heroic rescues, no monsters slain and lives saved. But it had been useful, and people were happier and healthier because of him, because he had returned and done his duty, and then chosen to do more than his mere duty.

And if his lute stayed in the corner, only dusted and oiled but never played, well.


	2. Chapter 2

For midwinter, he chose to throw a massive feast, for the whole town. Extra hands were employed for the cooking, though the food wouldn’t be the elaborate sort found at court. But there was nothing so satisfying as boar on a spit, roasted over an open fire, with music and dancing as everyone celebrated. Jaskier, uncharacteristically, kept to the edges. The people didn’t need to fawn all over him, and he didn’t want that. He wanted them to have fun, and having the lord of the place walking around could put a damper on that in a heartbeat, even if he was already more popular than his father had ever been.

With the new year, he began to plan new things. In one or two of the more progressive cities in the world, he had come across some interesting ideas that he wanted to implement for his people. For the tradespeople, education was…uncertain. Certain trades needed different education, though basic math was generally taught from master to apprentice, so they could run their trade as a proper business, though even that was by no means certain. Reading was even more hit or miss; if someone in the family knew how to read, then that knowledge was passed down to at least one of the children. If no one did, well, then learning to read was very unlikely. Lettenhove was fairly isolated, and he didn’t want his people to stagnate. And so with the spring, he announced the building of a school for the children, and whomever else was interested in learning.

The notion was met with a lot of confusion, and some general distrust, but he heard enough interest to be encouraged. The carpenters had already had an excellent commission in the form of a new healer’s house, and the new healer was very popular; she brought with her not only herb craft, but decent surgical skills and a modest healing power. The carpenters were happy to build any damned thing he wanted, considering they had been paid very well already.

While they got to work on a schoolhouse, he sent to Oxenfurt to make inquiries about a teacher looking for a post. For most, they would expect to be in the lord’s house, teaching his children. He wasn’t sure how any of them would feel about teaching commoners, adults and children alike. But he received a number of interested applicants, and invited them all to Lettenhove to interview. As he offered to pay the expenses of even the rejected applicants, most of them agreed to come.

And then he ran into his first real problem. His favorite of the applicants was a half elven man named Jirel, and though there were few signs of his elven nature, his faintly pointed ears gave him away.

The alderman was the first to protest when Jaskier hired him.

“You cannot be serious, My Lord! He isn’t human – he doesn’t belong here! And around our children on top of it. Would you really entrust our children to someone like _that_?”

Jaskier gave him a flat look. “Yes. If I had children of my own, he would teach them as well. He’s highly intelligent, has excellent references, communicates clearly, and graduated with high honors from Oxenfurt. I wouldn’t care if he were half manticore, half elven is no stretch. I have no tolerance for anti-human prejudice, Farin. If you do not care to learn, then don’t.”

“No one will wish to learn from an _elf_.”

“There is little choice. All children from age seven and up will be expected to attain basic proficiency in reading, mathematics, and history. This is optional for adults; not for the children of Lettenhove. And Jirel is to be respected. If I find that _anyone_ is harassing him, in any way, they will answer to me.”

Jaskier kept a very close eye on things as the school began to operate. He traveled into town daily when the children arrived and made sure he was there when lessons ended for the day to discuss progress with the teacher. The first few classes were a bit chaotic, as the kids had more questions about elves in general than on learning to read, but once the worst of the curiosity was sated, lessons progressed smoothly. And though Jirel was not exactly welcomed with warmth and open arms, the townsfolk were too well aware that what Jaskier had provided, he could take away again, and they could end up back in poverty, not far from starving. Grudgingly, the glares and suspicious looks cast at the new teacher dimmed and faded. Jaskier even found him, once or twice, eating with a couple of the others in the taverns, so he was even making himself a couple of friends.

Few adults took the classes initially, mostly the younger ones who wanted to piss off their parents. Jaskier could appreciate the attitude, at least, and as long as they didn’t make trouble in class, he didn’t care about motivation. Every supporter for the school and its teacher was welcomed.

The next problem was a bit more…problematic. And deadly. One of the local washerwomen vanished when she took the days laundry down to the clear stream to wash it. Everyone was called out on the search, and Jaskier joined them. A search near the stream showed where she had knelt to do the work, and Jaskier could see why it was a favored spot. The water was relatively shallow, and the bottom was sand and rock rather than mud; the water ran very clear there. But no matter how everyone searched, all that was found were some scraps of her dress and a couple clumps of her fair hair.

Jaskier recognized those signs; drowners. He immediately ordered everyone to avoid the waterways, and made certain the miller had extra men around the mill at all times. Drowners didn’t like to attack groups, so that was relatively safe enough. It was with a lump in his throat that he sent word that they had need of a witcher. He left most of the details to the alderman; if he could avoid having to see the witcher, even if it wasn’t Geralt, it would be best.

It took several weeks, and the townsfolk were beginning to chafe at the restrictions. Their thought was that the creatures had surely moved on by then, starved of any food. Jaskier knew better. The rubbish heap was just downstream of the town, and they’d be feeding on that well enough. Aidan finally brought word that a witcher had arrived for the contract, and some careful probing showed that this witcher did _not_ have white hair, and Jaskier breathed a sigh of relief.

Until Jirel came knocking at the door in the dead of night, sounding frantic. Jaskier was only steps behind Aidan to answer it. “What? What’s happened?”

“It’s the witcher, m’lord. Farin, well, once the witcher slayed the monsters, Farin claimed he’d planted them there to begin with and refused to pay. When the witcher argued, Farin ordered him thrown into the jail.”

“He. Did. What.” Jaskier gritted out.

“It was ugly, sir. Farin got some of the men from the tavern, and they were drunk enough to listen to him. I’m afraid the witcher was not treated very well.” Jirel was pale and anxious; it was all too easy to see the same happening to him if he did one thing to upset anyone.

“Damn,” Aidan muttered. “We’re in real trouble if we piss off the witcher’s guild.”

“Oh, they’re used to that sort of thing,” Jaskier said bitterly. “Rouse the men. I want half a dozen guards to come with me. Quickly, please, Aidan.”

“Yes, sir.”

In short order, Jaskier was dressed and atop a quickly saddled horse. His household guards were no more immune to stupid prejudice, but they were very well paid and wanted it to stay that way. Whatever prejudice they had, they weren’t about to fuck up their cushy positions. Jirel stayed at the house; if the town was too upset, it wouldn’t be safe for him to go home for a couple days, and neither Jaskier nor the teacher wanted to risk anything.

Farin, the bloated fool, was beaming when Jaskier thundered to a stop outside the mostly unused jail. It was basically there to house rowdy drunks, but the stone walls and iron bars were sturdy enough to hold even a witcher for a while. “My lord! I didn’t expect to see you at this time of night. The witcher problem has been dealt with.”

“Explain to me this witcher problem, Farin, because from my experience, witchers solve problems. They don’t create them,” Jaskier snapped.

“Why, it’s obvious, My Lord. Lettenhove has never had any issue with drowners or monsters of any sort. But word has spread about your generosity, so it is obvious that this witcher sent the creatures to plague us only to relieve you of your coin when hired to remove them. I saw through him right away, shifty sort, scars all down his face. At least the teacher is half human – witchers aren’t even _that._ ”

Jaskier took a deep breath. “Farin, you are relieved of your position, effective immediately. Jorge, Davyd, escort him to the alderman’s house and supervise his packing. Bring the town account books to me; I now wonder how honest he has been, if he is this stupid. You will guard him at the stables until I have had time to audit those books. I’ll send relief for you in a few hours so you can eat and rest.” There was a small crowd and some grumbled at the pronouncement. Jaskier had been all that was gracious and generous until then, his only fault in his outlandish educational ideas that had so far, at least, proved harmless. Farin had been there for his whole life; though he wasn’t exactly popular, he was still one of theirs.

He turned to address them all. “Listen to me, all of you. The world is changing, always. I have walked the Continent for half my life. The ugliest things I have ever seen or heard of have come from two sources: monsters, such as the drowners that killed poor Annie, and men. Humans. Witchers and elves and dwarves – they aren’t evil or wrong simply for not being human. They are, by and large, much like humans. They live and laugh and cry and struggle, just like we do. Lettenhove will be a safe haven for any non-human passing through or looking to settle. I won’t demand that you like or cater to them, but I will expect that they be treated fairly, and anyone caught attempting to cheat them or do violence to them will not fair very well. It is a simple enough thing, and causes you no harm to be _decent_. Luis, you and the rest round up the idiots who helped Farin lock the witcher up. It’s three days in the stocks for them, and two weeks prohibition from drinking alcohol after. Perhaps that will teach them to better monitor their consumption so they don’t get so drunk as to do something so stupid again.” He swung down from the saddle and glared around again. “We’re all lucky the witcher is a smarter, more honorable man than any here tonight. No pack of drunks could otherwise have taken a witcher down. By the time I come out, I expect his belongings to be waiting, and they had best be in the same condition as when they were taken from him.”

He grabbed the heavy ring of keys from a pale and trembling Farin and stalked into the little jail. The witcher in the back cell – the furthest from the door and its window, which was the only source of fresh air – was sitting against the wall, eyes closed. There was blood seeping down his badly scarred face from a cut on his head, and he was covered in muck, probably from the fight with the drowners. Geralt had always ended up covered in river or sewer water, as the things always had to draw him off dry land to where they were fastest, which was in the water. “Sir witcher, I am Count Pankratz, lord of these lands.” He unlocked the door. “Please, with my apologies, come out. Have you need of a healer?”

Deep amber eyes opened and regarded him. The head wound had clearly not affected his thinking, for the gaze was clear and assessing. “No healer, I’m not badly injured.” He flowed easily to his feet. “That was quite the speech, My Lord, and not a usual sentiment. How did a Count of Kerack come to travel the Continent for,” he squinted, “a decade?”

Jaskier laughed quietly. “You flatter me. I am in my forties, actually, but my skin care regime is fabulous. Truly, please, let me make up for that idiot of an alderman that I should have dismissed ages ago.”

“No need, though I notice you didn’t answer my question.” Jaskier shifted uncomfortably and the man held up a hand. “None of my business, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay. It’s not exactly a secret. I, well, before my father’s death last year, I traveled as a bard. I went by the name Jaskier, but getting anyone around here to call me that is like pulling barghest teeth from a living barghest.” The gaze sharpened on him with recognition. He winced. “I guess you know Geralt, huh?”

“I do. We are of the same school. We went through the Trials at the same time. I am Eskel.” He held out his hand and Jaskier shook it.

“He mentioned you a few times over the years. You and Lambert and Vesemir, a couple others. Not that he was terribly chatty, mind, but he mentioned you. Will you come up to the house and rest, at least for a day or two? Your purse will, of course, be waiting. But I do feel badly for how you were treated, and the least I can do to make up for it is offer you a place to sleep and recuperate, and decent food.” He perked up. “Well, and the baths. I _do_ have some of the biggest tubs around.”

Eskel laughed. “You _have_ spent too much time around one of us. You know just the right bait.”

“I spent a lot of time on the road,” Jaskier corrected. “I learned the value of a good hot bath, and decent sized tubs. I would never say I spent too much time around a witcher. You all have the best stories, and the best stories make for the best songs.” He led Eskel back out of the jail and found a pile of gear, including the two giant swords, waiting. “If you would, please check to make certain nothing is missing or damaged. I will replace anything that is, to the best of our ability.”

Eskel easily bent to rummage through everything for a couple minutes, then straightened and nodded. “All here. Where’s this house? I wouldn’t mind a decent bath and a meal.” He strapped both swords on and looped his pack over his shoulders like it all weighed nothing.

Jaskier swung up on the horse. “Your mount?”

“I’m in between mounts at present, I’m afraid.”

With a shrug, he reached a hand down to let the man swing up behind him. He glimpsed the widened eyes and whispering start up amongst their audience, and knew his easy trust at having a witcher pressed against his back would spread through the town faster than fire. They would either think him the bravest of men, or insane. Possibly both. He was used to it.

They rode in silence back to the house. Eskel whistled when it came into view. “You’ve done well for yourself, bard. Who knew singing could be so profitable?”

“Oh, well, this was inherited. There have been a few generations of Pankratz’s here. But, if I had chosen a different style of barding…then yes, I probably could have had a house at least almost as grand, although it’s doubtful that it would have come with all the lands to support it.”

“A different style of barding?”

“Hmm, yeah. I was offered positions in a few noble houses over the years, a couple of royal courts. A house, money, and staff are often a part of the package.” He brought the horse to a stop by the stables and let Eskel dismount before following him. He handed the reigns to the stable hand already reaching for them. “It’s something of a status symbol, you see. That one is so rich as to be able to afford not just to have a bard in a room in your household, but to provide an entire household for said bard. Damned cushy deal, for the ones who can get it. This way.” Eskel walked with him into the house, where they were met by an anxious Aidan and even more anxious Jirel. “Aidan, I’m so sorry to ask this, given the already interrupted sleep, but could you arrange a bath in the blue guest room please? Eskel will be staying with us for a bit. Eskel, would you like food brought up after the bath?” He squinted back outside. “Dawn isn’t far away, it’s not too horribly early for breakfast.”

“If you’re eating. Otherwise I can wait.”

“Oh, no worries there. The cooks will be up soon, getting breakfast ready for the household. You can take it in your room or with me in the dining room. Jirel, the invitation extends to you as well. Wherever you both feel most comfortable. I’m not so touchy that I’ll be hurt if you’d just rather a quiet meal on your own.”

“That’s very kind of you – Jaskier,” Eskel said mildly. Jaskier couldn’t help but grin briefly in delight at someone finally using his chosen name, for the first time in a year.

“I’ll join you as well,” Jirel said agreed.

“Excellent. Aidan, after you’ve arranged it, please, go put your feet up and your head down. I’m used to interrupted nights, you’re not.”

Aidan drew himself up. “I am not so old as all that, My Lord. I have no need of a _nap_.”

Jaskier put his hands up. “Okay, sheesh, it was just a suggestion. The gods know **I** enjoy a good nap, but to each their own.” Aidan stalked off, offense written in every line of him, and Jaskier chuckled. “He’ll still be running this house like clockwork when I’m in my dotage,” he confided to the other two. He showed Eskel up to his room, and then showed Jirel into a room next to it to relax until breakfast. Then he loitered in the hallway as staff started to arrive, hauling buckets of steaming water. It wasn’t so much to supervise, as to reassure, and a few of them did look fairly apprehensive about entering a room where a witcher waited. But they wiped their expressions into masks of professionalism, not knowing that Eskel would be able to smell their unease, and Jaskier appreciated the effort. When the tub was full, he followed the staff back down to the kitchen, where the enormous cauldron – seriously, it was basically a giant metal bathtub itself – that bathwater was heated for the family resided. At some point, Jaskier was going to upgrade the house and get the tubs all spelled. Far easier to just spell the tubs to be self cleaning and heating, and just need to top up the water every so often, than to have the staff heating and hauling gallons of water whenever someone needed a wash.

A lot of eyes turned towards him and he smiled. “It’s alright,” he assured them. “I’m sure some of you might be nervous, having a witcher in the house. He isn’t a monster, he’s a man. And right now, he’s tired, and probably a bit sore, and probably very hungry. He didn’t hurt anyone in town when they accosted him, and he won’t hurt anyone here either. That’s not what witchers do. They only fight back against humans when they have no other choice; they’re protectors, it’s what they were made for. So please, try to relax. He’s a guest here, and I don’t want anyone to feel uncomfortable.”

“Begging your pardon, m’lord, but I heard they can bewitch you with a look,” one of the maids said timidly.

“Only the very handsome ones,” Jaskier winked. More seriously, he added, “No, that’s not something they can really do. They have a few bits of magic they can use, for their contracts, and one of them could put you to sleep. But the bewitching you’re talking about is something only a full mage can do. No bewitching, no killing or maiming, they don’t steal or eat babies. None of the rubbish like that you might’ve heard is true.”

“Is it – is it the witcher from the songs? The White Wolf?” another asked.

“No, but it is one of his brothers. I have heard of him before. He’s as honorable as they come. You have no reason to fear him. They do tend to have an appetite, however, so maybe put on a bit extra for breakfast, hmm?” He met every set of eyes that would meet his, trying to project as much reassurance as he could. Thankfully, he was trusted enough that they _did_ seem reassured, and the general atmosphere brightened considerably.

Eskel had finished his bath and dressed by the time breakfast was on the table. He had left off his armor, and left at least most of his weapons in his room, though Jaskier was reasonably sure that he likely had at least a dagger hidden somewhere on his person. Still, the lack of armor or obvious weapons was a sign of trust that Jaskier appreciated, especially in light of the man’s treatment in town.

Jirel and Eskel seated themselves to either side of Jaskier, who of course sat at the head of the table. Even for a ‘small’ dining room, there was space to fit twenty comfortably, and on a normal day, Jaskier would have taken breakfast in his study so he at least didn’t feel as alone as he really was. It was good to have someone willing to sit with; he personally wouldn’t mind if every servant in the house ate breakfast with him, but they had some pretty firm ideas about station. Jirel had eaten with him before, of course, and tucked in without reservation. Eskel eyed the spread available briefly, but when Jaskier didn’t seem to be standing on any sort of ceremony, began to load his plate.

“How go the classes, Jirel?” Jaskier asked, not wishing Eskel to feel put on the spot.

“They go well, m’lord. I think even the adult learners have taken to the lessons with more enthusiasm of late, and the children continue to absorb knowledge like sponges,” Jirel said cheerfully enough.

“Excellent! I knew they would. With such an energetic instructor, it’s almost inevitable,” Jaskier beamed.

“What classes?” Eskel asked.

“His Lordship has created a school for the folk in the area. All the children from age seven and up are required to attend and get a basic education in reading, mathematics, and history. It’s voluntary for adults, so there are unfortunately fewer of those who attend, but still a handful. Within a few years, the people of Lettenhove will be the best educated commoners in the land.”

Eskel’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Interesting. I’m not aware of any other ruler anywhere that educates their populace. What made you want to?”

“Ignorance breeds stupidity, from what I can see,” Jaskier said bluntly. “In major cities, there are so many people, and you have art and music and new ideas flowing. So that’s where you find, usually, the most tolerance and understanding of other people and cultures. You find more hate in isolation.” He shrugged. “I can’t make Lettenhove a major metropolis, but I can still educate them. I can bring them outside ideas, broaden their mental horizons, maybe fertilize some new minds to find their own new ideas. Imagine what a world would look like if everyone had the same chances to learn and grow and have new ideas and share them with others. I still need to figure something out for the ones too far to make it here, all the tiny fly speck villages and such, but.” He clamped his mouth shut before he could get going too badly. His enthusiastic babble on various subjects had always been a source of irritation for Geralt, and while he wouldn’t make the mistake of thinking all witchers were copies of each other, he didn’t really want to leave a poor impression in the man’s mind.

“Not sure it will do any good, but.” Eskel looked down at his plate as he cut into his sausage. “But it’s the kindest method of trying to change people’s minds that I’ve yet come across.”

“Hmm. Yes. History is full of ‘adopt our ways or die’. Which is another good reason for the education; people should know their own history, and the history of the people whose world we share.” Jaskier couldn’t help glancing at Jirel with that. Humans, after all, were the interlopers. Hardly the fault of others that they don’t breed as quickly and prolifically as humans could. “Soon, I’ll be ordering books. The family library is alright, but it hasn’t been updated in a great many years. I want a public library, however, that anyone who wishes may use to further their knowledge on any subject they want to learn about. Perhaps further down the road, I’ll start sponsoring those that wish to go to Oxenfurt. But that is a topic for the future, and will require rather more planning. The family vault is extensive, but the university is expensive.”

“Had you always planned to make these improvements?” Jirel wondered.

“No, I’m afraid not. I had actually expected to renounce my title and remain…elsewhere, but circumstances changed around the time of my father’s death and so I returned to make the best of it.” Someone knocked on the door and Jaskier raised his voice slightly to beckon them in.

Aidan stepped through. “Pardon the interruption, My Lord, but Jorge brought the town account books. As well as a set of private account books that were found in the alderman’s study. He’s returned to continue guarding the man and his family, but did mention that you had promised relief for them.”

Jaskier gave both men a crooked smile. “Duty calls. Please, enjoy the rest of your meal. And feel free to go where you wish. My home is open to you both.” He wiped his mouth and rose to take care of business.


	3. Chapter 3

After sending out fresh guards to relieve the other men, Jaskier withdrew to his study with the account books that had been found. He had not truly suspected anything amiss; he had said it more to be, well, bitchy than anything else. But as he made his way through the books, and then pulled out the family account books, he began to notice the discrepancies. He missed both lunch and dinner, and only knew he had when Aidan brought trays in for him. By late evening, he had a reasonable picture of what had been going on. He strode out of the study, absolutely seething with fury. “Saddle my horse,” he ordered. “And send word on ahead; I want the whole town, or as many as can make it, in the town square. Farin has much to answer for.” He stuffed the account books into his old traveling satchel and slung the heavy thing over his shoulder. 

Eskel drifted into the foyer as he strode towards the door. “I take it you found something?” 

“Oh yes,” he bit out. “Farin was as bad as my father – actually tell me. The contract. What was the price you were told you would receive upon completion?” 

“Fifty orens.” 

“The contract was supposed to be for seventy-five. Seventy-five is what was left in Farin’s hands.” He scowled. “Damn the man! All of Lettenhove could have suffered if my father’s skimming of the crown taxes had been discovered before I did and made redress. We were forgiven by the grace of royal prejudice. There will be no such mercy for _him_.” He shook his head. “Never mind. This isn’t your problem. I hope you enjoyed dinner?” 

“I did,” Eskel confirmed, sounding amused. “I don’t mind lending a hand, if you think it will be needed.” 

“Not at all, but thank you. This is my responsibility.” He offered what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Please, pay this no mind. Relax and rest, dear witcher. I’m very well aware that such opportunities do not come often for you.” He brightened a little. “If you like, feel free to peruse the library; I’m sure that’s where Jirel has ended up. I have to go now.” With another smile, he strode out the door. 

By the time he rode into town, a rather large number of the citizens had gathered in the town square. Farin and his wife and son – who didn’t look terribly sickly to Jaskier, but he was no healer – waited, bags piled around their feet and guarded by another pair of Pankratz guards. Jaskier carefully guided his horse through the parting throng until he was in the center. He took off the satchel, with all the account books in it. “Do any of you know what is in here?” he demanded. 

“The…account books?” someone called out. Word of the late night, or rather, very early morning’s, happenings had indeed spread. 

“Correct. I confess, I didn’t truly expect to find anything amiss, but as it turns out, Farin has been cheating all of you for years. He was entrusted to collect all of your taxes from you over the years. My father’s imposed taxes were bad enough, I’m not going to lie about that. And my father was skinflint enough that he wouldn’t pay for honest labor and true skill, only the raw material needed to make the goods he used. But what my father demanded in taxes and what Farin collected were different things; he kept the difference. All these years, Farin.” Jaskier turned the horse so that he could look down on the man. “All these years, even while my _mother_ was alive, you have been inflating the taxes everyone owed and lining your pockets. What, by the gods, did you think you were doing? Do you know the penalty for such a thing?” 

“What your family paid wouldn’t keep a rat alive!” Farin spat. “Having to run this town, all the work, keeping folks in line, making sure they were doing as they ought – even your mother, who everyone so revered, didn’t pay enough! And when she died, your father cut my wages even more.” 

“And yet, you kept on, even after I inherited and raised your wages, even above what you were paid in my mother’s day. You have been cheating your friends and neighbors, the people that _trusted_ you, for so many years. And for what? You couldn’t show that you had that much more, your table could not offer so much more food than others’. What were you planning to do with it?” Farin raised his chin and didn’t answer. Jaskier shook his head and then looked at his wife. “Did you know?” he demanded. 

Her arms crossed protectively over her son’s chest. “No, m’lord,” she tried. 

Jaskier didn’t have a witcher’s nose, but he had learned long ago to read people. He’d had to, so he could read when a crowd was growing restless, when a dice or card opponent had a decent hand or was getting suspicious. She hadn’t been the least surprised by Jaskier’s words, and only looked nervously at the crowd and not horrified or angry at her husband. “You’re lying,” he said, suddenly exhausted and heartsick. “Do you understand what you’ve done? Truly understand? You have made yourselves enemies of the crown, the pair of you! Under the law, I have to either cut off both your hands or send you to the crown until you have worked sufficiently to repay all that you stole. Unless someone is willing to take your son in….” The boy was maybe ten summers, though he could be a little older, if he truly were sickly. 

“No! No, m’lord, _please_.” Farin finally broke, losing the proud, angry bent. “You – you needn’t inform the crown, m’lord. Most of the money is still in the house. Truly, we spent relatively little of it. Some extra food for the winter, and we sent for better clothes for us as well, but most of the money is hidden in the house. We can give it back and we will just – we’ll go. My wife has family over in the next estate. We can find work there, and you’ll never hear from us again,” he begged. 

An angry muttering started up in the crowd. Abruptly, Jaskier realized this course may not have been the wisest. He had wanted there to be transparency, so that his people knew they could trust him. If they trusted him, that trust would extend further to those that _he_ trusted, and hopefully pave the way for others like Jirel to be able to settle there and call Lettenhove home. But he had just revealed that one of their own had been making their lives even harder than they had to be – had, in essence, kept food from their bellies and the bellies of their children. But now there was no real way to soften the consequences for Farin and his wife – they were fucked. Largely by their own hand, yes, but had Jaskier had them brought before him in private, he _could_ have given a lighter sentence. The rest of the town would not settle for something less now, and if Jaskier tried, they could easily turn into a mob. The few guards that were present would not be enough to stop them. 

“No, Farin,” he said heavily. “No, I cannot allow you to simply slip away to live comfortably in another town.” Could not, but certainly would have if he could have. Entering in the king’s prison labor force was all but a death sentence; they were housed and fed, but they were worked into the ground. The alternative, cutting off the thieving hands, would mean an even quicker death. At least with the workforce, there was a _chance_ that they could earn their freedom again. Jaskier had the exact figure of what had been stolen over the years. Farin had at least kept tidy books, though it was likely only so that he never tripped himself up with confusing what he was taking in and paying out vs what he was stealing. “You and your wife will be taken into custody and placed in the jail. In the morning, you will be sent to the capitol to join the king’s workforce until such time as you have either repaid what you stole from your neighbors or you die.” 

“And what of my son?” the wife demanded. “Where is he to go? His lungs are weak, he won’t last if he’s cast out, and he’s but eleven! Please, Farin didn’t give me a choice, I had to keep his secret. Send him, let me take my son to my sister’s, m’lord.” 

“Oh, shut it, Fanny,” someone called. “You knew what your bastard husband did. You knew he was taking the food from _our_ babies to feed you! You’re no better than he is. Farin never did give you an order and we all know it.” 

“Aye, it was likely your idea!” someone else shouted. Shouts of agreement started up, and Jaskier saw a couple people casting about for something to throw. He’d been on the end of a stoning before, though Geralt had been the main target. He knew what it looked like. 

“Enough! Take them to the jail. Boy, what is your name?” he asked, reaching down for the kid. 

The poor boy was petrified as the men guarding his parents hustled them away, shoving through the crowd so that they could get to the jail. He reached up to grab Jaskier’s arm. “I – I am called Arnie, m’lord,” he whispered. 

“Arnie, I will find a place for you. Somewhere safe,” Jaskier promised. He settled the boy in front of him and raised his voice again at the crowd. They looked as if they were going to follow to the jail and exact their own form of justice on the pair. He needed to distract them, quickly. “Hold, everyone, please. I know you’re angry. Believe it or not, I understand what it is to be cold and hungry and miserable, just because some arrogant bastard decided he was more important than anyone else.” 

“Bullshit! What do you know of it, _Count_?” someone spat. 

“I traveled for two decades across this world as a bard. I have gone hungry. I have been cheated of my coin that could have fed me. My family name and fortune couldn’t help me in Temeria, or Rivia, or any of the other places that I found myself. In those places, I was no different from any of you. _I know hunger._ ” Sometimes, he’d had Geralt with him, and whatever he’d felt about Jaskier, the man wasn’t likely to let him starve to death. He’d shared whatever he’d been able to hunt and got them through until another contract came or Jaskier found a friendly enough crowd to fatten their purses again. His own hunting skills were nowhere near what a witcher could do. Not everyone was so lucky. “Farin and Fanny will be given to the crown’s justice. It will take them years to earn their freedom. I assure you, what they will go through won’t be pretty, and may well be worse than what all of you had to go through, thanks to them and my bastard of a father. Leave it in the king’s hands. For now, I need some volunteers to search the house. If there truly is a cache of your stolen coin there, I want it found, and redistributed throughout Lettenhove – to the farmers as well, as they were cheated the same as those of you who live in town.” They all looked at each other, and then the tailor stepped out from the back of the crowd. 

“I’ve no need of tutoring to know math, m’lord. If we can find the stash, I’ll help make sure everyone gets an equal share,” he volunteered. 

“Where are the carpenters? Gentlemen, I think your knowledge and skills with building would be invaluable at finding some secret place in the house where coins could be hidden.” He put on a slightly rueful smile. “I would rather not have to rebuild the entire house, if you don’t mind. A new alderman will have to be appointed, but that can wait until all of this has been dealt with.” A few more men drifted out of the crowd to stand beside the tailor, the carpenters and builders he’d asked for. 

As he’d hoped, the prospect of recouping some of their lost money had turned the attentions away – barely but away – from revenge. Last harvest had seen prosperity for all of them, and this year was shaping up to be the same, but extra money was always welcome. And it _was_ theirs, after all. Jaskier _could_ have kept it, but it wasn’t his way. 

With searchers chosen and the guilty locked away, the bulk of the crowd spread out, talking in smaller groups. Jaskier turned his horse towards his house and was brought up short by the town’s original healer. 

“Pardon, m’lord, but I’d be willing to take the boy in. His ailment is real enough, though not so bad as his mother felt it was, and I’m in the market for an apprentice. He’d be safe and fed, with me,” she offered. 

“Arnie, are you comfortable with that? There’s also your aunt, apparently, that you could go to.” 

“If you please, m’lord, I’d like to go with Heather.” Arnie reached his arms towards the woman, so Jaskier helped him slide back down to go to her side. 

“Alright, Heather. I’ll be checking up on the lad periodically. And, if he does not require such around the clock care, I fully expect your patient list to extend to the rest of the town and the farms.” He gave her a severe look. “There are those whose illnesses and ailments you were ‘too busy’ to treat who had suffered at your neglect. All are to be given equal priority.” She bobbed her head in agreement. 

Exhausted suddenly, Jaskier just nodded once and urged the horse into motion. 

When he got home, Eskel drifted out of the shadows as he finished giving instructions to Aidan for the next day. It was late, and they were all tired from the short sleep, and what was left to do could wait until later. 

Jaskier saw him and mustered a smile. “Hello. How was your day? Relaxing, I hope.” 

Eskel nodded. “Certainly. Much more so than yours, I’d wager.” 

Jaskier shrugged. “It is what it is, and now the day is done.” 

“Hmm. Things didn’t go as you’d hoped – I can smell the guilt and grief on you,” Eskel observed. 

Jaskier scrubbed a hand over his face tiredly. “No, not really. I should have thought my approach through a bit more carefully but. It’s too late to change things now.” He thought longingly of the brandy in the library. And why the hell not? Maybe a glass before bed would help him sleep. “Care for a drink?” he offered, not really expecting anything. 

“Sure.” 

A little pleased, Jaskier led the way into the library and poured them both generous glasses. Generous for him so that he could sleep, and generous for Eskel because he was a witcher and it would need to be generous to get that warm, lovely feeling that came with a mild buzz. Then he sprawled out on one of the couches. 

“So what happened? If you don’t mind my asking,” Eskel tacked on quickly. 

“Ha, I’m usually the one on the other end of that question when there’s a witcher involved.” Jaskier snorted a bit into his glass. “I confronted Farin and his wife in public,” he admitted after a few moments. “It got…ugly. I forgot, for a bit, how people could hold grudges. I want there to be transparency here, so the people that look to me know me, know they can trust me. But when I did that, I locked myself into just a one of two courses of action. Either the thieves would have to lose their hands, or they’d have to be sent to the king’s workforce, to work until they had repaid the amount they’d stolen. And they stole a _lot_ over the years. It’s all but a death sentence. So is losing their hands – everyone knows what that means. No one helps a thief. If I had confronted them quietly, I could have imposed something lighter – banishment, maybe, from the country and not just my lands.” He shrugged. “If I had tried to let them off with that, the crowd would have turned mob. They almost did anyway.” He raised the glass mockingly. “To impulsive stupidity!” He downed the whole glass in one go. 

Eskel was more restrained in his drinking, holding himself to a normal swallow. “I think you’re being too hard on yourself, Jaskier. You were trying to do right by as many people as possible. You didn’t make them steal from their neighbors, the people that looked to Farin as their representative and arbiter of the Count’s and King’s laws. Their own greed did that. And at least they have a chance to earn their freedom. If you had given them to their neighbors, they would likely have been beaten or stoned to death. And once a mob turns violent like that once, it becomes much easier for them to do so again.” 

“Maybe so,” Jaskier said gloomily. “I’m not sure I’m cut out for this life. I never wanted it. But if I give the title to one of my cousins, they’ll behave as my father did, and these people will be back to barely scraping by.” 

Eskel hummed thoughtfully. “In my experience, the ones who most want power over others are the least suited to having it. I think you will be very good for your people. I think you already have been.” 

“There was a lot to make up for. I’ll never understand why my mother married my father, but she was good for him. Or, well, he cared enough about her to let her have her way while she was alive, and the people flourished,” he corrected. “Once she died, his true nature was free to show. He was grinding them to dust. It took very little to bring them back – why, just paying fair price for goods and services, and everyone has grown cheerful and fat. But if I don’t learn to think ahead better, then someone else will go the way Farin did, and the king’s law in that respect is…harsh.” 

“Hmm.” Jaskier grinned briefly at the hummed response, so like Geralt. And then his smile dimmed, because honestly, in this situation, Geralt _would_ have had far more to say to him than that. Starting with the fact that Jaskier had never, precisely, mentioned the whole noble thing, or heir thing, and finishing with a strongly worded lecture on his poor handling of Farin and his wife that ended with them condemned to a work camp. “So how did a count’s son end up a wandering bard?” Eskel asked. 

Jaskier settled into the change of topic. “Oh, well, as you can imagine, my father and I didn’t get along. Mother played peacekeeper as best she could, but it really was quite _loud_ around here, almost every day.” He flashed a quick grin at the other man. “I’ve always been loud, and with my father, it was an angry loud, rather than singing loud so. ” He shrugged. “When I was twelve, I decided I wanted to go to Oxenfurt, and talked mother into it, who talked father into it. A perfectly respectable way to keep young nobles busy until they’re old enough to be useful. I graduated with honors after studying the seven liberal arts, but my emphasis was always on music. When I graduated at sixteen, well, I just started walking. I couldn’t imagine living my life only ever seeing Lettenhove and Oxenfurt, and mother had no objection. It wasn’t great when I started out, I had _so_ much to learn about life on the road. Reality is so very different from books. I swear, I got mugged a dozen times that first year alone, lucky I didn’t break my damned lute then, or I really would have been fucked. Then I met Geralt and, well.” He waved a hand vaguely and started to eye the bottle of brandy again. “I wrote mother fairly often, there’s a mage a couple towns over that will send letters magically for you – she’d write and include a return charm for me,” he explained. “As long as she knew I was fine, she didn’t mind that I kept wandering. And the gods know father was just relieved I was out of his hair.” 

“I’m amazed the wandering was enough to keep you from all this,” Eskel said, but he sounded like he was teasing. 

Jaskier wasn’t when he replied, “I loved every minute I was away.” 

“You really would have renounced it for good, wouldn’t you,” Eskel said, sounding amazed. 

“If things had been just a little bit different – in a heartbeat.” He shook himself a little and stood up. “Ugh, it’s late. Not all of us have witcher stamina, sir, so I’m afraid I’m off for bed.” He waved at the sideboard and then at all the books. “Make free with whatever you feel like.” 

“I will. Good night, Jaskier.” 

“Good night, Eskel.” Jaskier took himself off for a fitful night’s sleep. 

The next morning, he had to arrange the transport of Farin and his wife to the crown’s work camps, and sent a wary but mostly calm Jirel back to his home and classes, with a guard stationed nearby in case anyone’s anti-nonhumans prejudice was still flaring. Then he sat down with Aidan to discuss choosing a new alderman, and somehow from there it circled around to choosing a new heir for _both_ of them – Aidan was easy, Aidan had married the head cook when Jaskier was just a boy and they’d had a couple kids, and his son had served in most positions in the household, so that was a simple enough thing to agree to let the man train his successor. But the discussion of his own heir was difficult and not resolved by the time Jaskier’d had enough and fled. 

So it wasn’t until after lunch that he bumped into Eskel again, and summoned as sunny of a smile as he could. “Eskel! I hope you rested well?” 

“Very. And yourself?” 

“Of course.” Well, as well as could be expected. 

Eskel eyed him like he could hear the mental qualifier but didn’t call him out on it. “Are you busy at the moment?” 

“Er, not as such. Not really. What can I help you with?” 

“Oh, I was just hoping for a tour of the house. It’s rare that I am actually a guest in such a place, rather than merely accepting or fulfilling contracts.” 

“Well…sure! If you want a tour of this dusty pile, I have no objections.” Thoroughly bemused, he nonetheless showed the man around the entire place, from the cellars to the lone tower and then, when his interest still seemed strong, out to the grounds and gardens. Laughing a bit, he jumped up and snagged a branch of an oak tree. “And this old fellow has been here for generations, obviously.” He pulled himself up into the branches. “Gave my mother quite a fright when I was little, climbed as close to the top as I could get which, I will have you know, was very nearly the very top.” 

“Going up doesn’t seem like it would be the problem. How did you get down again?” 

“Oh, I fell,” Jaskier assured him. “Bumped my way back down to the ground. That’s always the way though, isn’t it? Getting up high is the fun bit, the trip back down always seems to hurt.” He swung his legs, feeling just a faint echo of the boy he used to be. “And I’ve also been talking all day. Normally, people have found a reason to escape by now. What about your home? What is Kaer Morhen like? If you’re allowed to say, of course.” 

Eskel, the ass, reached up to the branch facing his and pulled himself up one handed, like it was nothing. His little grin said he knew full well Jaskier wanted to throw something at him. “Kaer Morhen is…old. And cold. There’s never been much laughter there.” Then he grinned. “I will say, though, the one luxury I haven’t seen equaled anywhere else are the baths. It was built on natural hot springs. And not the kind that stink of sulfur, the kind that just smell of minerals. The ancient mages spelled the water clean, and the ancient witchers long ago carved benches around the edges. You can soak for _hours_ , up to your neck, without your knees or other bits having to poke out. And the water never gets cold. It’s the only place in the whole keep where a body can actually feel warm all the way through.” 

Jaskier leaned against the trunk of the tree and sighed. “That sounds marvelous,” he said dreamily. “I really must waste some of that pile of coin and get a mage in to spell the baths. Might not be quite so big, but to get even close to that kind of heat would be worth it.” 

“You’d think after a year of having them regularly that a bath wouldn’t seem like such a big deal.” 

“But I traveled on the road for a long time,” he reminded the man. “Twenty-five years, give or take the odd wintering over place. After a while, it gets to feeling like your skin is made of road dust, and all the baths in the world can’t really wash it away. And cold, fuck, don’t get me started on that!” he laughed. “You’re a witcher, you run hotter than most of the rest of us. I tried to head as far south as I could every winter, but I didn’t always get as far as I’d have liked to. Spending winter in a barn, if I was lucky, or in the top most, coldest bedroom of some minor noble’s house if I was slightly luckier, didn’t make for warm winters. And the baths _sucked_.” 

Eskel tilted his head. “You didn’t have somewhere constant to winter?” 

“Well, I mean. I would have had to take a contract, usually. They’re usually either lifetime posts or measured in years, not months. I could have had an apartment at Oxenfurt, but again, I would have had to teach for a while, and that would have kept me off the road for a year at minimum.” He shrugged. “I did what I had to in order to live my life as I wished. Not everyone is so lucky – I know I must seem terribly ungrateful, hating my position and all. I got twenty-five years of spending my life exactly as I wanted, and I know very few people ever get to say that.” 

“And…you spent how much of that twenty-five years with _Geralt_?” 

Jaskier turned away and let his gaze trace over his house. “A good chunk. We met when I was, oh, seventeen. I’d only been on the road for a year or so. Honestly, after that first little adventure, I didn’t expect to see him again, but we bumped into each other just a few weeks later, and then it kind of became a habit. After a while, it just seemed easier to just keep traveling together, since it seemed like we were going to keep running into each other anyway. He let me tag along for most of spring and summer, most years. We’d part sometime in autumn, so he could return to Kaer Morhen and I could find a place to winter.” 

“Were the stories worth it?” 

“Oh, he’s a shit storyteller, actually. But I’d manage to sneak close enough to witness enough of his battles to write about.” 

Eskel let out a low whistle. “You’re a braver man than I am. Not sure I could spend that much time with him. Winter is bad enough – grumpy fucker that he is.” Jaskier just shrugged. There wasn’t much he could say to that; Geralt _was_ grumpy, but he was so much more than that. “Still, made for some good songs. I’ve heard more than a couple over the years. That first one though, that one always makes Geralt roll his eyes the hardest, but he’s never said why.” 

“Because I took some wild liberties.” Jaskier recounted that first adventure, with no embellishment. “I still don’t think he understands why I wrote it that way. I usually don’t twist things so much.” 

“So explain it to me. I guess him talking your way out of death isn’t that exciting, but there has to be more to it.” 

“A good story of someone cleverly talking their way out of death is always a good song, Eskel. But in this case, it was better for the elves to be all dead. It helped launch his better reputation and, well, it meant no humans were going to go looking for the elves. They needed a chance to get away without anyone chasing after them. Granted,” he mused, “were I to write it now, I would do it differently, but they always say that hindsight is so much clearer.” 

“Useful,” Eskel allowed. “I’m not sure the elves realized it though. The couple that I know who have heard the song are a little leery of Geralt.” 

“That’s why I would do it differently now.” 

“Hmm.” Eskel hopped down out of the tree and stared up at him. “Come, bard, I have heard much about your music, and I’ve heard many of your songs sung by other tongues. I should like to hear them sung by their creator.” 

Jaskier barked out a laugh. “I’m not sure you would! It’s been a year, Eskel, I’m bound to be rusty as hell.” 

“Your rusty is bound to be better than others’ peak.” 

And, well, Jasker had never been terribly immune to flattery. He swung his leg over the branch and started to slide, a slightly more cautious method of descent than Eskel’s, or even his child self’s, and let out a little yelp when strong hands grabbed his waist and pulled, landing him on his feet in front of the witcher. “Well, next time, I’ll just jump then, shall I?” he snipped. 

“I’d catch you. Music, bard! Must earn your supper, hmm?” 

Jaskier let out a chuckle, because it was a fun little fantasy that Eskel had offered, that he was back on the road and his belly being filled depended on him playing well, on truly entertaining his audience. Never mind that he’d gotten a thin layer of softness over his gut over the last year. Reality wasn’t the point. 

He led the witcher up to his rooms, the same rooms he’d had as a child. Just the idea of moving into his father’s rooms had made his skin crawl when Aidan had hesitantly suggested it. His lute had stayed there, taken down and dusted and oiled to keep it pristine, but he hadn’t wanted to play. Or rather, hadn’t _dared_ to play, though he’d worked on the ballad of the dragon egg as he’d promised himself. The ache that moved through him when he took it down, the desire to just hitch it onto his back and start walking, made his fingers tremble. But he had an already too perceptive audience, so he didn’t give himself time to think about it and just strummed a few chords to remind his hands what to do, then launched into his very first witcher song. He didn’t sing exclusively the songs he’d written about Geralt, because that was a very good way to end up completely maudlin, but he threw out the ones he thought were the best, and then moved to some of his favorite jigs, and finished with some of his favorite love songs. Granted, most of those were actually about Geralt too, but it was far from obvious, and he was well used to hiding who his muse had truly been for them. 

He finally had to stop when it felt like his fingers were starting to flay. “See?” he muttered, fingers caressing down the warm wood. “Rusty.” 

Sword callused fingers tangled with his. “And as I predicted, your rusty is better than most others’ peak,” Eskel murmured back. His thumb swept over Jaskier’s raw fingertips in a hypnotic rhythm. Jaskier lifted his gaze to meet dark amber eyes, pupils wider than his well-lit bedroom should require. His breath caught. It had been a long time since someone had given him a look like that. “Are you…pledged, to anyone?” 

“No, sir witcher. No, I most certainly am not. But I could be, for a night or two, if you’re interested?” 

“I’m interested.” Eskel kept sweeping his thumb, and it was starting to drive Jaskier a little nuts. “I…have to ask. Geralt….? 

“I traveled with the man for more than two decades. He wasn’t interested, ever. Geralt…is a non-issue.” 

“Good.” Eskel leaned in and kissed him. Jaskier’s eyes fluttered closed and he leaned into it, opening his mouth and eagerly twining his tongue around Eskel’s. 

It was bliss, losing himself in the simplicity of pleasure, in the slide of sweat slick skin against skin, in hands and mouths and cocks. Eskel was as generous of a lover as Jaskier had always tried to be himself, and by the time they were both finished, Jaskier had come more times in one evening than he’d managed since he was a teenager, and Eskel had matched him orgasm for orgasm. “Mmm, it’s a good thing I’m not a professional bard any longer, my dear, else I’d be inspired for a whole song cycle to inspire at the brothels of the world,” he said, a little dreamily. 

Eskel snorted. “Oh hush. You’ve a reputation, Jaskier, you can’t tell me that I really stand out amongst the beauties of the world that you’ve bedded.” 

“You’re one of the beauties of the world that I’ve bedded. Or been bedded by, however you prefer to think of it. And you most assuredly do. Stand out, that is.” 

“Not funny.” 

Jaskier frowned and made the monumental effort to flop over onto the man’s ridiculously broad chest and meet his gaze. “I’m not joking, dearest.” Eskel raised the scarred brow and then reached up to tap the scars that carved deep, cruel furrows into his face. “Oh, fuck _that_. I’m aware that there are an awful lot of shallow, pitiful fuckers who can’t see beyond their own noses, but please don’t paint me with that brush too .” He curled his hands around both sides of the man’s face. “You are terribly handsome, Eskel, and your scars do not detract from that in the _slightest_.” He leaned up to press a kiss to the end of his nose, making the man’s eyes cross a little comically. “Now hush. The way this works is that we bask in the afterglow of some extremely satisfying sex, drift off to sleep, and then wake up for either another round or maybe a bath, depending on how sticky we feel.” 

“Oh, that’s how it’s supposed to work, is it?” 

“Yes. Afterglow, dearest.” Very firmly, he laid his head down and pillowed it on the incredibly firm chest beneath him. Hesitant hands – which was ridiculous, Jaskier gave leave for those hands to take far more liberties – came to rest on his back, at first lightly, and then with more weight as Eskel fully relaxed and got into the whole ‘basking’ portion of the evening. 

Eventually, they fell asleep and woke again in the morning. They were indeed sticky, with hair matted uncomfortably in some unfortunate places. But a shared bath allowed for both of Jaskier’s predictions to be true. And had the bonus of scandalizing the servants, but Jaskier’s practiced eye noted it as the fun kind of scandalized rather than the offended kind. 


	4. Chapter 4

Eskel stayed for just a couple more days, spending each night in Jaskier’s bed. Geralt was not brought up again, for which Jaskier was thankful. Instead, they filled the days with talk of Eskel’s hunts, and Jaskier’s early adventures at Oxenfurt, which were filled with a great many pranks and misadventures. After breakfast the day he had chosen to leave, Eskel packed his bag and tucked the pouch of orens for killing the drowners inside his armor. He squinted out towards the road and kind of shuffled his feet. “Listen, Jaskier. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something,” he began.

“Oh? Say what’s on your mind, dearest.” He reached out and snagged one of those big hands in his. “I’m fair difficult to offend, you should know that by now, I hope.”

“Yeah, well. You need better guards,” he blurted.

Jaskier blinked. He hadn’t had a clue where Eskel was going with an opening like that, but he hadn’t considered _that_. “What?”

“War is brewing. Nilfgaard is eyeing Cintra, and I’d wager it’s not more than a couple years or so at most before they make the attempt. You’re far enough north that the war itself shouldn’t be an issue, but there’s always refugees. And some refugees, well, it isn’t just the honest citizens that flee. Your guards are mostly for show, they’ve not got a lick of real training to them.”

“War brews with Nilfgaard a couple times a century, at least. Cintra has always held.” Jaskier chewed his lip. “You really think the trouble will make it this far north?”

“I have a bad feeling about what’s coming.”

Jaskier blew out a breath. “Thank you for the warning. I’ll look into it, although the gods know where I’d find a decent trainer. Most hire swords I’ve ever met have not been…pleasant.”

“Might be I know someone. He’s a bit long in the tooth to hold more than a trainer’s position, but he’s a good man, honorable, and he knows his job. Name is Alan.”

“If he’s interested, he’ll find a post here,” Jaskier promised. “And along those lines, you may tell the other witchers that if they are in the area and want or need a place to stay, for whatever reason, they may come here. My house is open to all of you – no monster killing or false imprisonment required.”

“I’ll spread the word. And I’ll see you again, bard. The next time the Path brings me near Kerack.”

“I look forward to it,” Jaskier said honestly.

Eskel pressed the sweetest kiss to his lips before hoisting his pack and setting out.

Jaskier watched him go, more than a little wistful. Once upon a time, he would have hoisted a pack and his lute and walked off with him. But his duty kept him bound right where he was, and so he would have to be contented with the stories that others shared with him.

At least for now. Maybe, when he’d chosen an heir and trained him up a bit, maybe he would take the road again. There were ways to communicate long distance, should it be needed, and the stables had plenty of horses to make travel faster. He could wander through the warmer seasons and actually have somewhere to return for the winter.

It was a thought.

For the moment, he turned his attention to more immediate things.

Though he didn’t enjoy the idea at all, he agreed with Aidan that his most likely course of getting himself an heir was to go see his aunt and her brood. A couple days after Eskel left, he made the two hour ride to his Aunt’s home, a structure just slightly less imposing than his own mini-keep. He hadn’t bothered to send word on ahead, figuring that she’d be upset no matter what, so let her bitch about the unannounced visit rather than finding something else.

Aunt Trinea’s steward was a dour faced man that walked like he had a fire poker up his backside. “My Lord, Her Ladyship was not expecting you.”

“I know. It’s been a very long time since I have seen my cousins, and I haven’t even met most of their children. None came to the funeral, as I recall,” he added pointedly. Not that he gave a fuck, but it could be considered an insult, and he wasn’t above using every weapon at his disposal. “I’d like to meet all of them, if you please. Now.”

Somehow, the steward managed to stiffen up even more, and stalked off like an offended cat. Jaskier wandered into the library and made free with the port on the side board while he waited. His aunt, predictably, was the first to show up, stalking in with that pinched look on her face that she got whenever Jaskier did something unfortunate in her eyes. Which was pretty much everything he did, so it was more or less her permanent expression around him.

“Julian. You show up, unannounced to my house, demanding to have the whole family assembled immediately? To suit your whims?” she snapped.

“My house, Aunt. Let us not forget that. And yes. I am particularly interested in meeting the children who, for whatever reason, did not attend their uncle’s funeral last year. I have things reordered to my liking at home, for the most part, so I have a bit of free time.”

“Well ordered! From what I hear, you had to call in a witcher, of all things, and then had to send your alderman to a work camp!”

“Monsters move in where they will, Aunt. And it was the alderman that I inherited from _father_ , and I found proof that he was stealing from the rest of the people of Lettenhove for _years_ , and somehow father never noticed. Years, Aunty Dearest,” Jaskier said with a sharp-toothed smile. “I have been cleaning up his neglect and poor decisions since I got back.”

Her lips pinched further. “Yes, and don’t think I don’t recall your review of _my_ household accounts.”

“The audit of which proved that, though you are as tightfisted as father ever was with pay for your staff, at least none of them were stealing. Congratulations.” He rolled his eyes at her and turned back to the port. It was rather sweet for his tastes, used as he was to the piss water that passed for ale on the road, but he sipped it as insolently as he knew how. Which, judging from the bright spots of color that rose in Aunt Trinea’s cheeks, was apparently very insolent indeed.

He was kept waiting nearly half an hour, and when the children were ushered in by his stone faced cousins, he could see why. His cutting words about propriety had apparently spurred them into dressing all the children as formally as possible. He rolled his eyes and walked to the head of the line, the eldest of his second cousins. He stood tall and reed thin, at roughly fifteen years old, almost as tall as Jaskier was and likely to exceed his height if he got another growth spurt. He also wore a look as disdainful as his aunt and cousins all had.

There were ten in all, and Jaskier despaired of finding one he was willing to take a chance on, since they had all managed to perfect that _look_. And then he frowned and counted again. There were supposed to be ten – but only nine stood in front of him. “I know this may come as a shock, but I _do_ know how to count. There should be one more child here. Where is he? I see four girls and five boys.” He turned as fearsome of a scowl as he could muster on his kin and didn’t care for the shifty looks they traded. He studied his fingernails casually. “Well, since apparently counting is a thing we don’t do anymore, I shall stop counting the money that is sent for the household each month – as in, it won’t be sent.”

“You can’t –“

Jaskier cut his aunt off with a sharp gesture. “You need to stop saying that, because we all know that I very well can. I can disown the entire sorry lot of you _just because I feel like it_. If you think I would have some moral qualms, then you’re entirely out of touch with reality. You have never cared very much for me, Aunty Dearest, and the feeling is entirely mutual. Sending all of you to try to make some kind of living that isn’t sponging off the accident of your noble births would be incredibly character building.” He glared at all of them, including the older children. The youngest three, well, he had some ideas about that. “Bring me my missing cousin – **now**.”

Cousin Bertram, slightly cowed at the threat of disownment, slunk out of the library and returned a few moments later with a quiet, pale boy of about ten. He had the Pankratz brown hair and blue eyes, and a haunted, withdrawn look that Jaskier knew too well. The same look had hovered like a ghost behind his own eyes, held at bay only by his mother’s love and acceptance. He also looked entirely terrified. Jaskier pulled out a chair and sat and beckoned the boy closer. “What’s your name, young man?”

“Theodore, sir,” was the quiet response.

“Theodore. I am your cousin, Julian. Can you tell me why you weren’t brought in with the others?”

“I was on punishment, sir. Father caught me reading a book I wasn’t supposed to read,” he responded, eyes downcast.

“Oh? And what was the topic of this book that is outlawed?”

“Healing herbs, sir. I – I have an interest in healing, but father and grandmother say it isn’t proper for one of our station to study a trade like that.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Of course not. It’s proper only for nobles to look fancy and throw out orders, not to have any sort of useful knowledge. Why, think of how it would be, if we knew how to do something for ourselves.” Theodore eyed him uncertainly, clearly not certain if he was serious or sarcastic. “How would you like to come live with me? I am in need of an heir, Theodore, and I prefer not to marry if I can find someone suitable already. I think you might fit the bill, but I also think we should get to know each other better before we both commit to something.”

“Oh, father would never allow that! I’m not fit to be heir, sir. My older brother is much more proper, sir, I’m sure he’d be better at it.”

Jaskier regarded the boy for a few moments. “Well, here’s your first lesson about being a Count of Kerack, Theodore. The Count is head of the family, and under the King’s law, his word is law in the family. So long as I don’t violate any of the King’s laws, what I say goes around here. And there is nothing that your father or your grandmother can do about it. It’s a terrible responsibility, but it’s also, in many ways, very freeing. If we get on the way I think we will, you and I shall talk much more about that later. So, would you like to come stay with me for a while, see if we both like the idea of you as heir?” Theodore started to turn and look at his father and grandmother, but Jaskier reached out and caught his hand. “No, don’t look to them. You make this choice for yourself. I promise, you won’t be punished for it either way.” He paused. “It may help you to know that I studied at Oxenfurt and spent over two decades on the road as a professional bard. I have no problem with nobles having actual, useful skills.” A teeny tiny fire lit in the boy’s eyes at last, and he nodded.

“Yes, sir. I’d be honored to come live with you while you consider me as a potential heir,” he said.

“Oh for – honestly, Julian, I might have guessed,” Aunt Trinea bitched. “Like calls to like, I suppose, one head in the clouds knows another.”

Bertram looked far less resigned – he looked furious. “You can’t just come in here and _take_ my child!”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not. I’m taking several of them.” He pointed at the other three youngest. “It has occurred to me that, as far away as you all are from the Lettenhove seat, that they are not getting the proper education that I have deemed needed for all children on our lands. Certainly the distance prohibits such travels. They will come stay with me and attend the school. When they’re a bit older, I will engage a private tutor to get them all to an appropriate level to go to Oxenfurt. Considering the number of highborn that attend, there’s a chance they may even find a match – and an educated one, at that!”

“And nothing for the older ones, nothing at all?” Trinea demanded.

“Correct. You have had plenty of time with them to see to their education. If you or they wish to further their studies, I won’t object. You may use your household budget as you wish.”

“You’re stealing our children,” Cousin Linette hissed.

“Fostering,” Jaskier corrected. “And seeing to their education. Besides, we’ll be a two hour ride away. You may come visit them once every two weeks – for lunch.” He turned to his aunt. “I’m taking Theodore with me right now. I expect the rest to be there by lunch tomorrow and be sure to pack all of Theodore’s belongings and send them along as well.” He tilted Theodore’s face up to his. “Go and say farewell to your parents,” he instructed.

It was a bit heartbreaking to see the boy walk up to his parents and offer a painfully correct bow rather than a hug. “Goodbye Father, Mother. I promise, I shall work very hard to make Cousin Julian pleased with me,” he swore. He probably still thought that would be a good thing in their eyes, although Jaskier knew that was the last thing they wanted – they had too good of an idea of what would please Jaskier. All they could offer in return were stilted words, reminding him of what _they_ had taught him about being a Pankratz and admonishments not to forget it. Jaskier was sure the other children would receive a more extensive version of that before they were delivered to him and would show up confused and terrified and pre-disposed to ignore everything that he said.

Well. They were young; he was reasonably sure he could appeal to their natural curiosity well enough to overcome that. That and interacting with the village children would probably roughhouse the worst of the arrogance from them.

The mood of the house when he returned with not just Theodore, but three more younglings on the way, was a mix of excited and apprehensive. The house had been very quiet for a very long time, and most of the staff were of an age where their children were more or less grown and working somewhere. But the children were from his aunt’s line, not any children of Jaskier’s directly, and so they expected the attitude that would come with them. Still, they rallied, airing out the children’s rooms and ordering more food to be kept on hand to feed growing bodies.

Theodore – who seemed quite fine being called just Theo, thankfully – took to the free reign he was given in the library with a quiet but wary enthusiasm. Jirel was a little less enthusiastic to find out he was getting four highborn children to teach, as he’d chosen to apply for the school position to avoid having to tutor highborns. Jaskier couldn’t blame him, as in the normal course of events, such kids were permitted to do _anything_ they liked with the tutor having no real recourse. It would help, somewhat, that they were a bit more advanced than the majority of the town’s children, and would be studying more with the adult learners, and Jaskier let it be known that, while he wouldn’t approve of beating them or active cruelty, all the adults were permitted to give the kids a set-down if they needed to.

Having the kids all there was a blessing and a curse. They were about as spoiled as Jaskier had suspected, and he spent an awful lot of time having to correct them when they tried to order the staff around and demanding special treatment. But it kept him busy, and he had reached a point where everything was running so smoothly that he was more or less not needed for much of anything.

After the first three or so weeks where it was particularly bumpy, and many tantrums were thrown ( _mostly_ the children; Jaskier had sworn Aidan to secrecy about the little incident in his study that had involved a bit more brandy than needed and a lot of swearing) things began to even out. The kids began to realize that they were not going to get something just because they demanded it, and started employing actual manners. They started paying better attention in their lessons, and engaging with Jirel not as an inferior, but as a source of wildly interesting information.

Jaskier, in short, started to see hope that they would grow into functional, decent adults.

The first visit from their parents brought a short regression to the tantrums that was swiftly corrected.

As summer started to come to a close, and a slight coolness started to infiltrate the air at night, they had another visitor. And older man, probably somewhere in his sixties, rode up to the house on an equally senior mare. Jaskier was summoned away from writing out a book list request so that both the school and the house would get some updated material to work from. He favored the older man with a puzzled smile. “Hello. I am Count Pankratz. How can I help you?”

The old man stared down at him. “I was told to ask for a Jaskier,” he said bluntly. “I was told there’d be a post here, training household guards. I am Alan of Lyria.”

It took a moment, distracted as Jaskier was, before he remembered. “Oh! The retired soldier Eskel mentioned to me! Of course, please. Come in.”

“Ex-mercenary, if you please. I ain’t no soldier, retired or otherwise.” Alan swung down and shouldered his own pack, giving a suspicious glare to the stable hand that reached for the reigns. The young man shied back a little, but rallied quickly, and walked the horse away, already murmuring into her ear.

“Well, mercenary or soldier, Eskel said you’ve got the skill and knowledge that we lack, and that you’re an honorable man.”

“Honest,” Alan corrected. “Honor is for nobles and wannabe heroes.”

Jaskier grinned. “Very well then. An honest mercenary, and I do hope you won’t argue with his description of you as trustworthy?”

Alan sighed heavily. “He did mention that you were a bard by trade. Fanciful, the lot of you. I hope he wasn’t exaggerating about you having some common gods damned sense mixed in with it.”

“Some. Twenty plus years living life on the road beat some sense into me. I’d have been dead a hundred times over otherwise.” Alan nodded and finally consented to follow him into the house. Jaskier took him straight to his study and gestured around. “Please, have a seat on something that isn’t moving beneath you and we’ll talk. I admittedly have never negotiated a contract like this, but if you’re as honest as you and Eskel say you are, I trust you won’t gouge me too badly.”

“How can you ever know if I do?”

“I suppose I can’t – unless someone else with more experience happens to mention it to me in the future.” Jaskier shrugged easily. “But you need a post, and I am in need of someone to turn my guards from a bunch of farmers’ sons waving bits of metal into actual, functional guards. Can you do that?”

“More’n likely. I’ve met a few folk in my time that were just too dumb to get it, but I’ll wager I can whip most of your men into shape. Where’d you plan on housing me?”

“Well, the guards sleep at the back of the house? They aren’t giant rooms, but they’re warm and weather proofed. The servants’ quarters are in the block next to them and are roughly the same size, save for the handful reserved for the married couples. But,” and Jaskier tapped a finger to his lips thoughtfully, “you’d be in a bit of an odd position, in charge of the guards. That puts you closer in rank within the household to my steward, so you’d have to have quarters similar to his. So I believe you’d be getting a small suite: bedroom, small office or study, and a bathing chamber. Would that suit?”

If it was more or less than expected, Alan didn’t show it. He offered about as much in the way of facial expression as Geralt. “Sounds fine, as long as it’s warm in the winter and won’t suffocate me in summer.” Jaskier nodded. “How many guards?”

“Ten. There’s room for fifty, but we’re a fairly quiet area, so it’s been a very long time since we’ve housed that many.”

“I’ll tell you right now, you’ll be wanting to hire more. Word out of the south is that Nilfgaard is gearing for war. And everyone I’ve spoken to says it’s fixing to be the worst war with them yet; Calanthe isn’t mobilizing or expanding, and it’s going to cost her dear, even if she wins. Some are already starting to drift north.”

Jaskier frowned. “That…isn’t good.” He couldn’t help but think of a Child Surprise who would be right at the heart of things, and the witcher that would, at the first hint of true danger to the girl, throw himself into it as well. At Alan’s impatient look, he shook off the thoughts. “Alright. I’ll have Aidan spread the word that we’ll be taking on more guards, but you’ll have final say over who we take. Does that sound reasonable?”

“Aye, it should do. What are they to be protecting?”

“The people first. I’ve money enough, anything else can be replaced, given the time and funds, but I’ll want the people protected as much as possible. We’ve a small jail that usually just houses rowdy drunks. There’s been little enough to draw thieves around here until lately; my father didn’t pay anyone for shit, so there was nothing for thieves to steal from anyone. I’m sure that will change sooner rather than later, but so far luck has held.”

“Folk were looking fat and happy when I rode through, so I’d bet on sooner. Have you mounts?”

“Yes – gods yes. I’ve been told I need to either start selling off the yearlings or expand the stables.” He rolled his eyes upwards. “Apparently the idea of separating the males and females is one my stable master doesn’t like. He seems to feel it’s a bit cruel to deny them their natural urges. If he weren’t so damned good with them…..”

“Well, we can talk him into gelding some of the rowdier stallions, keep a handful as breeding stock, and teach the guards to ride. Regular patrols will discourage thieves a bit, and it’ll give us more room to maneuver when refugees start swarming. I assume you’ll want to run them off?”

“No, actually. I don’t mind honest refugees showing up. Lettenhove is very fertile land, we’d be able to feed plenty more mouths, particularly if they’re willing to help in the fields. It’s the ones looking to take advantage, the dishonest ones, that I worry about. I’d be wanting order kept, and the criminals weeded out.” He grimaced. “I don’t like the idea of sending anyone to the king’s work camps, but I won’t have thieving or raping or murder going on.”

“Got a soft heart on you.”

“Maybe so. There’s enough ugly in the world that I can’t stand adding to it if I don’t have to.”

“Alright then. You want my advice?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t have me train just the guards. I know the harvest is coming, but winter is an idle time; I can train your farmers and townsfolk, too. If enough of ‘em have a clue about defending themselves, they’ll be far less vulnerable,” Alan said bluntly.

Jaskier drummed his fingers on the desk. “I like it. Not sure if I can get hundreds of swords in time, though. Our blacksmith does mostly work on household items and horseshoes. I’m not sure he knows how to make a decent weapon.”

“Don’t have to be swords. Knives work just as well, sometimes better. Arm the guards, and knives and bows for the townsfolk. And if you’re willing to take on refugees, you’d best consider laying in extra grain, and some kinda housing and sanitation. They’ll take sick faster’n you can believe if they’re trying to make it through winter in tents or something.”

Jaskier pulled a sheet of parchment to him and pulled out pen and ink. “Okay. So you’ll be wanting swords and armor for the guards, we’ve got horses and tack covered, but long term food storage and housing in case of refugees,” he wrote.

“Ain’t gotta be tomorrow, Nilfgaard isn’t moving this year yet. I expect you won’t see hardly anyone this far north for a good while.”

“Sooner begun, sooner done. I’ve been considering some magical enhancements around the place. I know several countries where the royals have created large silos for grain with some kind of magical preservation on them so the grain doesn’t rot. As soon as the ground starts drying out, I can get some men on building a new silo, and maybe some kind of big…” he waved a hand, “meat and vegetable storage house. There’s a mage not far from here that will do spells for coin; if he can’t or won’t, I can always apply to the king and ask assistance from the court mage for it.”

“He’s not going to object?”

“Oh, I can spin the request any way I feel like it. You know, earnest young Count, still new to his role, being overly cautious blah blah.” He shrugged. “As long as the appropriate taxes are sent, he won’t object. May not agree, sure, but he won’t object. But this is plenty to start with, I think, especially when we haven’t discussed wages yet. And you’ve yet to put your things away, or had a meal or anything, really.” He named a monthly figure just a bit shy of what Aidan made, and by the very faint widening of the man’s eyes, it was a bit larger than he had expected. “You’ll earn it, I expect,” Jaskier warned him. “I should also mention that the kids around here go to a school, and the teacher is a half elf. Now, you get on with Eskel well enough he recommended you to me, so I’m going to assume non-humans aren’t a problem for you? I don’t plan to turn away any who come through or want to stay,” he warned.

“We all bleed red. Got no issue with nobody who don’t take issue with me.”

“Good enough. Are you satisfied with the arrangement?”

Alan studied him closely. “Never thought I’d settle in a noble’s house, but aye. I’m satisfied. I’ll give good value for the coin.” He held out a hand a little challengingly, like he expected Jaskier not to shake. But he didn’t posture and try to squeeze the life out of Jaskier’s hand when he shook it, so Jaskier figured he’d made a decent impression himself.


	5. Chapter 5

Alan was an interesting addition to the household. He didn’t give Jaskier a lick of deferential respect, spoke to everyone as if they were the same rank, and had no qualms about swearing. The guards took an instant liking to him, and Jaskier noticed more than one of the young men watching the grizzled older man with worshipful eyes. It seemed to disconcert the old soldier, but it guaranteed he had their undivided attention, and also meant that, as they spoke to their friends and families, when it came to recruit more trainees, there were plenty who showed up and Alan had his pick.

The second oldest of Jaskier’s foster children also took a shine to Alan. Roderick was nine, almost ten, and seemed to think Alan hung the moon and stars, and was so insistent about joining in the training that Jaskier had to make a deal with him to keep him in his lessons; in return for attending to his book learning, Jaskier would commission first a wooden practice sword and then, when he was old enough and Alan said he’d learned enough, he would get his very own sword, special made.

The other two, eight year old Kara and eight year old (not a twin, a cousin but thick as thieves anyway) Victor had yet to show a passion for a particular subject, unless that subject was climbing trees. Jaskier diverted one of the house maids to follow them around and prevent them from getting too high up, as Jaskier had done as a boy, since there was no guarantee that the luck that kept him from breaking his head open when he fell would pass down to them.

Theo was loving his lessons and having free reign in the library. Jaskier spoke with the healer that he’d hired, and she agreed to start giving him basic lessons and, if he proved adept, allowing him to shadow her as she worked.

Jaskier finally made the time to go meet the mage his aunt had paid to get the message to him. His experience with mages in general had largely been unpleasant, but the mage in question was a druid, rather than someone who had trained with the Brotherhood. He was open to casting most types of spells, as long as it didn’t upset the ‘natural balance’, whatever that meant. He all but rolled his eyes when Jaskier requested the enchanted bathtubs, but he perked up when Jaskier brought up the preservation of food. The price would be fairly steep for the food storage, but it wasn’t nearly as expensive to enchant all the tubs in the house.

It was difficult to resist the urge to nap during his first bath after the druid had been by.

With winter, everything more or less stopped. There was little enough traffic near or through Lettenhove as it was, and it all dried up completely once the snows came. And everyone got bored, or at least tetchy with being shut in. His new guards started to do a bit of a brisk business, breaking up fights and throwing people in jail to sleep off their drink. Jaskier finally broke down and pulled out his lute again. Though he avoided singing Toss a Coin, he heavily sprinkled his choices with as many of his witcher songs as he could, finally actually playing the Ballad of Dragon Mountain for an audience. He was often pestered with invasive questions about witchers, which he answered where he could and fudged where he felt the truth was a more private thing. He threw out songs about elves and dwarves as well, but it was hard to tell if his songs were inspiring anything of value in his audience. Tolerance was the least he was hoping for, welcome would be the best. Only time, and someone new visiting, would tell.

When spring finally arrived, Jaskier worked with both the woodcutters and carpenters and the farmers. The wood workers were to start on the storage buildings that he wanted, and the farmers were all given previously fallow land to expand planting. Jaskier wanted to expand the local animal herds, and for that, they would need feed and space. Jaskier at least had plenty of space.

Spring also brought another witcher. Jaskier was listening patiently as his stable master explained just how it was that three of the mares were pregnant, after Jaskier and Alan had spent so very much time explaining why they should really avoid having more horses around the place. The man rode right up to the stables, face set into what appeared to be a permanent scowl, and blatantly looked Jaskier up and down.

Jaskier cocked his head at him. “Hello. I see by your eyes and your pendant and the two very big swords that you wear that you’re a witcher. I know of no monsters on my lands, so may I assume you’re interested in spending a night or a few? I am –“

“Jaskier. The bard. You don’t look anywhere near as foppish as Geralt described you. I am Lambert.”

Jaskier shoved down the flare of hurt at hearing how Geralt had spoken of him to his comrades. He wasn’t even really surprised, so it was pointless to be hurt. “Lambert, yes. Geralt and Eskel both mentioned you. Please, let’s get your mount stabled.” He turned and pointed a finger at the stable master. “I don’t care what you think, do not put her in with any of the stallions. What is a witcher meant to do with a pregnant mount?”

Barney gave him a hurt look. “Wouldn’t let that happen. The road is no place to be a mother.”

Lambert snorted and dismounted, shouldering his pack. “She bites, and prefers apples to carrots,” he warned.

Barney cooed at the horse as he led her away. Jaskier sent Alan a despairing glance. “I’m going to end up expanding the stables, aren’t I?”

“Not if you’d put your foot down and mean it,” Alan said bluntly. He reached out a hand. “Nice to see you again, Lambert. Path treating you well?”

“Does it ever?” Lambert clasped forearms. “How’s it been, working for this one? Eskel said he was a good sort, but then, Eskel’s always been a soft touch.”

“He’s not the only one. His Lordship is a bit too soft on some of the folk around here, but he’s got more sense than any other ten nobles put together, so on balance, I’ll take it.” Both men glanced at Jaskier, who was just standing there watching, eyebrows raised.

“Are you comfortable talking about me while I’m here, or shall I fuck off so you can do it in private?” he asked genially.

Lambert barked out a short laugh. “Well, you’ve got stones on you, I’ll give you that.”

“Thanks, I think. Why don’t I show you to a room and you can put your things away?”

“Lead the way, _My Lord_.” Lambert gestured extravagantly.

Jaskier rolled his eyes but turned to head into the house. “Just so you’re aware, my circumstances have changed a little since Eskel was here. There are four children about the place. They’re in lessons down at the school, but I’ll be bringing them back to the house before supper. They will likely pester you with questions – or be terrified into silence.” He glanced over at the scowling witcher. “They’ve heard plenty of stories, but one never can quite tell. Do let me know if they become a bother. Roddy has driven Alan to distraction once or twice. Loads of questions about fighting and such.”

“What, no warnings not to scare them, no rules to keep my distance?”

“No. Why would I? I doubt you’d go out of your way to frighten them, and if they’re still frightened after my tales of witcher heroics, then that’s hardly your fault, is it? And how will they learn better if they never get the chance?” They reached the doors and Jaskier held it open so the witcher could pass him. “Lunch should be ready soon. You’re welcome to join me in the dining room, or, if you prefer, I can have a tray sent up.” He showed Lambert to the same guest room that Eskel had used. “I finally got around to a wonderfully frivolous purchase and had a druid that lives nearby enchant all the baths. They’re all spelled clean and hot, so no need to worry it’ll go cold on you before you’ve finished your soak.” He pointed at the door that led to the bathing chamber. “Feel free to explore the house. I’d only ask that you stay out of the staff’s private quarters, but every other room in the house is open to you. Have you need of any ingredients for your potions? No guarantee the healers or apothecary would have them, but it’s worth asking.”

Lambert stared at him suspiciously. “No. My potions are well stocked.” He set his satchels on the bed and looked around. “I suppose you prefer I leave my weapons in here, then?”

“It’s up to you. I can’t see you needing any of them here, but I have no objections to you keeping them on your person.”

“Hmm.” He crossed his arms. “I can’t figure out your angle,” he said. “What do you want from us?”

“Us as in witchers? Nothing. Oh, if I’ve another monster that moves into the area, I’ll send out a call for a witcher, and pay what the contract is worth. I don’t expect you to do more than that. I don’t expect you to fight my enemies or any similar nonsense,” Jaskier said flatly.

“Bullshit. People, particularly people of your station, don’t kiss our asses like this for nothing. Whatever it is, you spent a couple decades following Geralt around like a particularly yappy dog and didn’t get it, and now you put out the word that any witcher is free to come and stay, for free, whenever they feel like it? Tells me you still want whatever it is, and you’re just trying a new angle.”

“I spent the better part of two decades with Geralt at first, for the stories. And then because I am insane and actually liked the bastard,” Jaskier snapped. “I have opened my home to you because I have never liked how witchers are spoken of and treated, and I mean to make my home a place you all can relax, heal, get decent food or whatever else you need since I can no longer continue to roam and try improving things with my songs. None of you _have_ to come and stay, and for the record, you aren’t that special. I have made the same offer to all non-humans, not just witchers. So you can stay, or not, as you choose. I don’t give a fuck, it literally does not matter to me, the only thing that I will now insist on is that you keep the insults to me and leave the rest of the residents out of it,” he warned. “I won’t have you insulting my staff or the people of Lettenhove, just because you’re a paranoid fucker and think everyone is out to get you. Are we clear?”

Lambert gaped at him a little. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You aren’t afraid in the slightest. You do know I could snap you in half without breaking a sweat, right?”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “I’m aware. I’m also aware that it violates all that witchers stand for, since I have done nothing to try to harm you, so why would you? I highly doubt your feelings are so delicate as all that. Now, do you plan to stay for a while or not? Because it’s only polite that I let the kitchen know that you’ll be here for meals.”

“I’ll stay,” Lambert said after a long pause. “A couple days, or until I figure you out.”

“Whatever. If you don’t come to the dining room, I’ll have a tray sent up.” Jaskier turned and stalked out.

Alan was the only member of staff that had taken Jaskier up on the whole eating at the same table as him invite, and was waiting in the small dining room when Jaskier stomped in. He took one look at his face and laughed. “Took longer than I thought, to be honest,” he hooted. “Lambert could piss off a lamb. What did he say?”

“Apparently, I’m up to something by offering my house as a safe place to stay for all witchers and non-humans,” Jaskier grumbled. “Like Geralt or Eskel wouldn’t have figured out something like that already.”

“Folks don’t treat witchers all that well, normally. They’re polite when they want something,” Alan explained.

Jaskier glared at him. “I spent a great deal of time over the last couple decades traveling with Geralt. I’ve seen that, more than once. But again, I say: if I wanted something, Geralt would have figured it out. Or Eskel, last summer. There’s not a fucking thing that I want that I can’t pay for, I don’t need to trick people into anything.”

“I’m not the one you need to convince.”

Jaskier closed his mouth with a snap. There was no point in being snippy with Alan. And probably no point in getting pissed at Lambert. Either the witcher would come to believe him or he wouldn’t, and there wasn’t much Jaskier could do either way.

It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to being disliked by a witcher, after all. At least Eskel had decided to get to know him a little before he’d passed judgement, and if Lambert chose to listen to whatever unflattering things Geralt had said about him over the years, then chances were pretty low that he’d be back after this visit, and Jaskier wouldn’t have to deal with him again. He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, easing the tension born from irritation, and picked up his utensils. He would enjoy his meal, and then go about trying to convince his stable master to stop breeding horses they had no real need of. _That_ was what needed his energy.

As soon as he finished eating, he instructed that a tray of food was sent up to Lambert, and then went back out to the stables. Barney was busy cooing at the witcher’s mount, brushing her down while her nose was buried in a trough. Jaskier took a deep breath. He _liked_ Barney; being stern wasn’t something that came naturally to Jaskier, and even less so with the people he really liked. But Alan wasn’t wrong that he hadn’t yet put his foot down, and if he didn’t, he really would need to start expanding the stables. And although every single horse was very well trained and cared for, there was no need of so many. They weren’t suited to working in the fields, they were all riding mounts. Once the guards were mounted, with some spares, the rest were just…there.

“Barney,” he said, putting a hint of the same authority that was so easy to throw at his extended family into his voice. Barney straightened away from the witcher’s mount and looked at him, shuffling his feet. “This stops. Now. We’ve good stock, and you train them well, but I’ve no interest in entering the horse trading business, which I will almost certainly need to do if you keep breeding them as you do. Keep the in season mares away from the stallions, Barney. We will start selling one horse for every foal born after the current three. Is that clear?”

Barney heaved a sigh. “You’re cruel, to keep ‘em from doing what nature tells them to do.”

“We are at our limits for what we can comfortably feed and house. If you can’t manage this, then I will have _all_ the stallions gelded. This isn’t up for debate, and I won’t tolerate any more oopsies.” He glared as sternly as he could manage until Barney finally nodded, shoulders sagging. “Good.” He softened a bit. “I know you love them, Barney. No one could doubt your affection or your skill in caring and training them.” He clapped the man on the shoulder and left him to his work, guessing he would need a bit of time to come to terms with the situation.

Later that afternoon, he made the walk down to town to collect the kids when their lessons were done. All four were happy enough to make the walk back, and three of them chattered happily about their lessons. Theo was more reserved, as usual, but he was relaxed enough that Jaskier guessed he’d enjoyed his day’s lessons as well. Shortly before they reached the house, Jaskier had to stop them. “We have a visitor. A witcher. He’ll be staying with us for a couple days, probably.”

Roddy’s eyes lit up. “Ohh, is it the White Wolf? Will he let me try his sword?”

“No, and I’m not sure you’d be able to _lift_ his sword, Roddy. You’re still rather short, and a witcher’s blades are very heavy, and very sharp,” Jaskier said dryly. “This witcher’s name is Lambert. He seems a grumpy sort, but he won’t hurt anyone.”

“Is he covered in monster guts?” Kara asked, sounding both fascinated and disgusted at the same time.

“Not at the moment, no. They _do_ wash up after they’ve killed a monster, Kara. No one likes walking about covered in monster goo.”

“But he’s got fangs, right? And sharp claws?” Victor insisted.

“No, Vic, he does not. Have you been paying attention to anything I’ve taught you about witchers?” he said, exasperated.

“I just think it’d be better if they had fangs and claws,” Victor insisted. “What kind of monster hunter don’t have fangs and claws? If **I** was gonna make a monster hunter, I’d make sure they had fangs and claws.”

“They’re already stronger, faster, and have better senses than regular humans, Vic. They don’t _need_ fangs and claws. Besides, I should think they’d get in the way of doing normal things,” Jaskier pointed out. “Imagine washing your bum with claws? And I bet you’d bite clear through your lips if you had fangs.”

“It’d be cooler,” Victor said stubbornly. Jaskier stifled a laugh.

“Perhaps, but the fangs and claws wouldn’t really be helpful, I think. It’s silver that kills most monsters, which is why they have a silver sword. And I’m sure you’ll think he looks plenty ‘cool’ as he is.”

“Not without fangs and claws.”

“Or being covered in monster guts,” Kara chimed in.

“Monster guts tend to be very stinky; you wouldn’t like them.”

Nothing Jaskier said could dissuade the younger three that their vision of what a witcher should look like wasn’t better than the reality. Once they were in sight of the house, the three of them broke into a run, hell bent on being the first to lay eyes on their guest.

“Grumpy, Cousin?” Theo asked worriedly.

Jaskier draped an arm around his shoulders. “Hmm, yes. You know about my telling the witcher I met last summer that they would be welcome here, any of them, if they had need of shelter or food or anything right?” Theo nodded. “Well, witchers are still viewed with a great deal of suspicion around the world, and most folks who offer a favor to a witcher are doing so to get something from them. Lambert thinks I have an agenda, and he’s bent on finding out what it is.”

Theo hummed thoughtfully. “Well, but he’s not wrong, is he? You must want something from making the offer?”

“Certainly. I want them to have a safe place to rest and relax. I worked for a long time to improve the image of witchers across the land, singing of their heroics, trying to make people more welcoming. They do what unmutated men cannot, and it’s usually for far too little pay. The world is not fair,” Jaskier said quietly. “It’s hard, and cold, and mean. That doesn’t mean we have to be the same. It means we should be better than that, especially towards the ones who protect us from the monsters that would prey on us. I can’t keep working towards that with my music. We simply don’t get enough travelers through Lettenhove to carry new songs away. But if I can get the word out that it’s safe here? Then at least the witchers, and elves and dwarves too, know there is somewhere to go where they will be safe. There are too few sanctuaries for non-humans. Now there is one more. But I believe he expects that I will ask him to kill someone for me, or kill monsters for me without payment or something.”

Theo hummed again but had nothing more to say. At least not right then. He’d grown quite a lot and tended to think quietly about things for a while before coming back with more questions.

Jaskier was so proud of him some days, he thought he might burst with it.

When they entered the house, they found Lambert in the foyer, besieged. He was holding Roddy in the air by the back of his tunic and staring in bewilderment at Victor, who was poking at the fingers of his free hand. Kara was circling him critically and saying, “You don’t smell nasty a’tall. Do you even really kill monsters? There’s no goop on you. There should be goop.”

“Oh dear.” Jaskier briefly pinched the bridge of his nose. “Theo, I believe you’ve a potion to make for Helga. She’s to examine it tomorrow. You’d best get started on that.”

Theo eyed his younger cousins doubtfully. “Are you certain, Cousin? I could stay and help.”

“It’s alright. I’ve got this.” Jaskier sounded more confident than he felt. From the pissed look Lambert sent him, he could tell, too. “Kara, I’ve already told you, witchers _bathe_. They don’t walk around covered in monster guts. If another monster moves into the area, I promise to take you to see its corpse and guts after it’s killed, but please stop sniffing the witcher. You aren’t a dog, m’dear. Victor,” he said sternly. “He doesn’t have claws, he’s got fingernails, just like the rest of us. Poking at him won’t change that. And Roddy – for the love of the gods,” he closed his eyes as Roddy made a swipe for one of the heavy swords on Lambert’s back. “You can’t lift _Alan’s_ sword, you certainly won’t be able to lift Lambert’s, and you’d drop it on your foot and chop it off, and then where would you be? You don’t see too many footless swordsmen about, do you?”

“I bet I could lift it. I bet it’s enchanted or something so it’s not heavy. Witchers would have magic weapons.”

“Roderick!” Jaskier snapped. All three children turned wide eyes on him. He hadn’t snapped in a good long while. “Enough. Lambert is a guest in this house, and we do not treat guests like sideshow attractions. And,” he added pointedly, “we do not attempt to take or play with their belongings. This is inappropriate, and I expect better of you. Now apologize to Lambert for misbehaving and trying to steal his sword.”

With Roddy no longer trying to swipe his sword, Lambert cautiously lowered the boy to his feet. All three more or less lined up and apologized to his boots. “If he chooses to join us for dinner, you may each ask him one question – _if_ you’re good through the whole meal, and _if_ it’s a proper question that doesn’t involve the wearing of monster guts, fangs or claws, or playing with a weapon that is too heavy for you to even lift safely. He may not wish to answer, considering how rude you’ve been so far, and I wouldn’t blame him. Roddy, you’re grounded from your lessons with Alan for today. Victor, Kara, no dessert for either of you.” All three looked up, ready to fight him on their punishments. “Don’t even think about it, or the punishments will extend to a week,” he warned. Mouths snapping shut and shoulders slumping, all three slunk off sullenly. “Apologies, sir witcher,” Jaskier said a little stiffly. “Roddy is obsessed with learning the sword, and the other two have apparently developed opinions on what a witcher should look like.”

“None of them were even a little afraid,” Lambert said, sounding honestly bewildered and even a little pissed about that.

“They spent the last winter hearing plenty of songs about witchers. I’m glad they weren’t frightened, and I’m just sorry they had such poor manners.”

“The taller one wanted my sword.”

“Yes,” Jaskier said, because obviously.

“The girl was sniffing me.”

“Yes,” Jaskier said again. “Monster guts,” he reminded him.

“And the shorter boy was poking my hand.”

“Yes. I am aware. If you may recall, I just scolded all three for those things and apologized.” Jaskier squinted at him. “Are you alright?”

“I just don’t understand what the fuck is going on.”

“They’re kids.” Because honestly, that hadn’t been the worst that could have happened. Jaskier much preferred that irreverent curiosity to terror, even if he’d have preferred it tempered by good manners. “Their parents spoiled them all horribly, except for Theo,” he explained. “We’re still working on the idea that they can’t have what they want just because they want it. They’ve gotten much better – not one screaming tantrum,” he pointed out.

“This is the strangest house I have ever been in.”

Jaskier had no response to that. At times, he found himself wondering how the hell his life had ended up as it was. He could hardly blame Lambert for noticing. “I have some work to do,” he said instead. “I don’t think any of them will climb on you again, but please let me know if I am wrong. Excuse me.” He left Lambert in the foyer, still looking out of sorts.

He didn’t really have work to do, but he really hadn’t wanted to stand there while Lambet tried to wrap his head around a household, and children, where no one was afraid of him. Well, he hadn’t really wanted to stand around Lambert, full stop, and making up the excuse was at least a more polite way of going about that. He hid himself in his study and pulled out his composition book.

When dinner time arrived, he was a little surprised that Lambert actually joined them. He and Alan managed a reasonable conversation that had the children listening with fascination, not least of which was because Lambert was as unguarded with his tongue as Alan, and the swearing invariably led to sly looks and snickering. When the meal ended, with Victor and Kara watching forlornly as everyone else got dessert, all three of the younger ones turned hopeful, begging eyes on Lambert.

The witcher sighed. “One question each,” he grumbled.

“Are your weapons enchanted?” Roddy demanded.

“No. We don’t enchant our weapons. We don’t need to, and we don’t have much use for mages to begin with.”

“How do you kill a selkiemore? For real? Cousin Jaskier said you have to get swallowed by them and cut your way out, but that just seems stupid. What if you got chewed up?” Kara rushed out, beating Victor, who shoved her a little.

Lambert blinked at her. “They don’t chew. They’re so big, they don’t need to. But their hides are too tough, so you have to get swallowed and cut it up from the inside, and then climb out when it’s dead. Foul fucking things.”

“What’s the hardest monster to kill?” Victor asked, thankfully avoiding questions about mutations.

Lambert pursed his lips. “None of them are easy. Generally, the hardest fights I’ve had involved pack monsters. Nekkers and the like, where you have more than one or two to keep track of and kill. Solo monsters aren’t as much trouble, until you find a particularly strong one, like a fiend or a higher vampire.”

“Excellent. Thank you, Lambert, for indulging their questions. Cousins,” he added pointedly. All three added their thanks and left as soon as they were dismissed. Theo lingered and shot Jaskier an anxious look. “What is it, Theo?”

“May I ask a question as well?” he asked.

“Go ahead,” Lambert told him, a little less begrudgingly than he had at first.

“Helga says witchers heal different from the rest of us. Does that mean our potions and salves don’t work on you?”

“They do, but not as well as our own potions. Witchers heal faster, and better, than humans. We also have a resistance to a lot of things like poisons and venoms, but it also means our potions have to be special made to have any real effect. Why do you ask?”

“I’m studying to be a healer,” Theo answered, and sounded quietly proud about it rather than apologetic or shamed, as his parents had made him feel for the interest.

Lambert looked between Jaskier and Theo. “Why? You’re a noble. You don’t need a trade.”

Theo deflated slightly but rallied after a quick look at Jaskier. “Why shouldn’t I? People get hurt, they get sick, and I want to help if I can. Helga says I’m good at it. Some people are good at farming, or making clothes, or building things. I want to be able to help people get better when they’re hurt or sick, I don’t want to just sit around and give orders all day. I want to do something that makes peoples’ lives better, even if it’s not supposed to be something that a noble does. That’s just stupid. And useless.”

“Huh. You have a point.”

Theo quietly excused himself to return to his potion, and Lambert gave Jaskier an appraising look. “You teach him that?”

“I chose him because of it. I am probably going to name him as my heir, as long as he’s agreeable.”

“Won’t be able to work as a healer if you do that.”

“Of course he can. I was my father’s heir and I traveled for decades as a bard. He’ll have plenty of time to both study and act as a healer, and he can continue to do so when he takes over the title and responsibilities that come with it.” Jaskier shrugged. “Unless he decides he would rather not take on the title. I won’t force him into it. Roddy and Victor are also potential heirs and will have whatever educational opportunities they like that make them happy, with time for a career in their chosen field.”

“Why not get married, have your own kid?”

“That…is not my preference,” Jaskier said carefully.

“Hmm.”

“Good evening, gentlemen.” Jaskier rose and ended the conversation before Lambert could get even nosier. Jaskier was so used to talking that it didn’t take any effort at all to get him started, and it didn’t help that he didn’t really have anyone that he could truly talk to here. But he couldn’t forget that Lambert wasn’t his friend and didn’t want to be. Anything more personal that he said, he couldn’t trust that Lambert would keep it in confidence, so it was better to just leave.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm looking forward to season 2, because I'd love to meet a version of some of these characters that we haven't met in show yet. But also, I kind of like have that ambiguity to play around with the characterization without it being 'officially' ooc for them.
> 
> Anyway, here's a bit more of Lambert, and a bit more of Eskel, and these damned kids just won't stay in the background so I'm glad folks seem to like them!

The next few days went better than that first. Although Lambert continued to wander the house and randomly speak to the staff about Jaskier (possibly thinking that, like in other households, the staff’s loyalty went no further than their pay and they wouldn’t mention it to him) he didn’t spark another fight by insulting Jaskier right to his face. The children settled a bit, although they continued to ask their one permitted question at dinner each night, but at least they didn’t swarm the man as they had done initially.

However humorous, in retrospect, the image had been.

A week after Lambert arrived, he tracked Jaskier down in his study, where he was busy picking out the melody of a new song. Jaskier raised an eyebrow when he just walked in without knocking, but it was a small enough thing that it wasn’t really worth bothering over beyond that. “What can I do for you?”

“You can explain the magic I found here.”

“Magic? Well, I mentioned when you arrived that I’d had the tubs spelled, so I have to assume you’re not talking about that. The only other magic in this house that I’m aware of is the vault under the house.”

“Okay first, this isn’t a house, it’s a fuckng keep – a bit small, yes, but this was clearly built to be defensible, with fortifications and solid stone construction. Second no, I’m not talking about the vault. That’s too fucking obvious, why would I bother about that? I mean the concealment magic in the small room across the hall. What are you hiding?”

Jaskier set his lute aside. “The small room across the hall was my mother’s study,” he said. “As far as I know, there _is_ no magic in there. None I was ever aware of, and I’ve found no records anywhere that hinted at any being done.”

Lambert gave him a hard look for several long seconds and then grunted. “You’re telling the truth.”

“I usually am.” Jaskier frowned and considered the notion. What the hell could his mother – well, it didn’t have to be his mother, did it? That room had belonged to the Countess of the family for generations, who knew how old that magic was?

A low thrum of excitement, an echo of the thrill he’d used to get following Geralt into one of his contracts, started in his belly. His very own mystery! Perhaps there was some rare item concealed, something with an incredible story, hidden there. Something ballad worthy, perhaps.

He pushed his chair back and stood. “Would you mind showing me where this magic is? I can ask the druid back, see if he can’t get rid of the spell and see what’s been hidden there.”

With raised eyebrows, Lambert led him into the small room across the hall and pointed at the corner of the room next to the narrow window. His mother’s desk was in front of the window, and in the space beside it, there had stood a rather boring statue of a rearing horse for as long as Jaskier could remember. He wasn’t sure what he expected when he started to examine the statue, but it was most certainly _not_ for the statue itself to vanish in front of his eyes to reveal a tall, very narrow cabinet, filled with leather bound notebooks, similar to what he used when taking notes and songwriting. He jumped back, startled, and the statue reappeared. “You touch it,” he said, fascinated. Lambert reached past him to touch the statue, which remained very much a statue. “Wow.” Jaskier laid his hand on it as well, but again, it remained a statue, until Lambert removed his hand. “That’s so weird. It must be similar to the vault.”

“What do you mean?”

“The vault can only be opened by the head of the household or the heir,” Jaskier answered absently, touching and removing his hand to watch the change. “Right now, since I haven’t officially designated my heir, it can only be opened by me.”

“What happens if you die before choosing an heir?”

“It would follow the law of the land. If I die without choosing an heir beforehand, the next in line would be my eldest cousin.”

“Are you going to read one of the books or just play with the damned thing?”

Jaskier shot him a _look_. “I’ll get around to reading them. I’m not sure I want you here for that. We’re hardly friends, are we? Although I do thank you for finding this and bringing it to my attention.”

Lambert smirked. “I knew you were hiding something.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake! You know perfectly well that I had no idea this existed until you brought it to my attention – you can _smell_ when someone lies, hear their heartbeat change even the slightest amount with the lie.”

“Just because you didn’t know where it was, doesn’t mean you didn’t have some idea that it existed. What’s in those books?” Lambert demanded.

Rolling his eyes, Jaskier placed a hand back on the statue and with the other, opened the door and retrieved one of the slender volumes at random. He flipped it open and stopped short. His head spun a little, and his hands started shaking. Inside, the writings were addressed to _him_ , as Julian, and in his mother’s handwriting. “Get out,” he whispered. He flinched almost violently away when a hand reached for the book and turned a furious glare on the man. “Get out! Get out right now, you’ve no right to what is in these books, and you’re far too much of a bastard for me to wish to share it with you! Get out, go fetch your things, you spiteful, miserable man, and get out of my house.”

Lambert reared back in shock, and then his face creased in anger. “I knew it. I knew your sort would never do a thing for one of my kind without reason. Got what you wanted, eh? How many generations have those books been hidden, hmm?”

“You know absolutely fuck all about anything, you fuck. Get out of my house, get off my lands.” Anger sharpened his voice into a range he’d never heard it before, something deep and sharp that almost hurt coming out of his throat. “Get. Out!” he snarled again when Lambert refused to budge.

Abruptly, Lambert turned on his heel and stalked stiffly out.

Jaskier whirled and hid the book again before following him out. He made a fast, angry walk down to the vault and returned upstairs in time to see Lambert waiting impatiently for Barney to saddle his horse. Jaskier flung a pouch at his head. He turned and caught it, of course, and glared murder at Jaskier. “For your _services_ , noble witcher,” he bit out. “As unwanted and unanticipated as they were.” He turned and stalked back inside without waiting to see if payment was accepted. Let Lambert keep or throw away the money, he didn’t care.

Aidan and Alan materialized as he started back up the stairs. “M’lord, what the hell happened?” Alan demanded.

“Aidan, would you go fetch the children when their lessons are finished for the day? I would like to not be disturbed until further notice. Alan, Lambert is leaving. He is to be off my lands as soon as possible, and unless he’s actively injured, I would rather not host him again,” he ground out, trying and failing to keep the anger out of his voice. Those two didn’t deserve it, but he was so furious he didn’t know what to do with himself.

He didn’t see the looks exchanged between the two men behind him. He didn’t know that Alan grabbed a horse and rode to see the druid to send a message.

Jaskier locked himself in his mother’s study and pulled the first slender volume out of the hidden cabinet. It was dated before he’d even been born, while she would still have been pregnant with him.

_My dearest Julian, how I long to hold you in my arms. I cannot tell your father yet that I know you will be a boy. He wouldn’t understand how I can be so sure, but our kind always knows. Someday, I hope to tell you myself, when you are grown, when you are ready. But life is uncertain. Tomorrow is never promised. And so I will write to you, in the hopes that, if I am unable to tell you in person, that at least you will find these books and know about yourself and our family._

_Your father doesn’t know. He’s not a bad man, exactly, Julian. He is as he was raised to be, and I hope that I will be able to temper the arrogance and selfishness that has been instilled in him since birth. Men are so changeable. That is what gives me hope._

_He would not have been my first choice of husband, nor of father to my child. But though I cannot fully understand the hand of Destiny, I can feel it when it guides me. Our kind always can. You must not tell anyone, my darling boy, but you must know the truth. We, your mother, my mother, and her mother before her, are not human. Our kind were once friends to humans, when the Conjunction happened. But men are so changeable – what gives me hope now for a decent life was our betrayal long ago. We are Sirens, my Julian. My mother was fully Siren. When she was young, she gave up life in the sea to explore the world of men, and she met her husband, my father, and fell in love. He loved her, until the day he found out her true heritage, and the heritage his only child, his daughter, had inherited. His rage was terrible, and the shock of it made his heart give out, which is all that protected your grandmother and myself from being hunted._

_My father was only a Baron, but it meant that I was an acceptable, if not entirely desirable, match for your father. Your Aunt Trinea never liked me; I hope that dislike won’t fall to you as well, but I fear that it shall. She and your grandfather have strong views on what is proper, but our blood is the blood of freedom, of roaming the seas where we will. For your sake, I can contain it, but I doubt that you will be able to._

_I didn’t really want to marry at all. But when I met your father, I could feel the heavy hand of Destiny upon my shoulder. When he showed interest, when he courted me according to the customs of men, I allowed it. My mother was horrified, but she understood when I explained. The Destiny I could feel was not mine, but that of the child I would have with him. We mourned together; for all that it ended badly, mother truly had loved father, and she had wanted that for me._

_Perhaps I will have a chance later, to know that kind of love. But even if I do not, the love I already feel for you is more than enough. I love you more than anything, my Julian. Never doubt that. Never doubt that, though I married your father as Destiny wished, and did not love **him** , you are not, and never shall be, a burden or a duty. You are my greatest joy, and I will do all that I can to make certain you have a happy life. _

_I will write to you often. I cannot be as free with my love or my words out loud. I do not know the people that work here very well yet, and I do not know if they would betray our secret to your father if any of them overheard. I would like to think that I have earned at least some affection and loyalty from them, and were it only my own safety, I think I would risk saying all this to you directly. But humans hunt our people, and our people are angry with the betrayal of men and hunt them in turn; if my whole nature were known, I believe I would be killed. Worse, you would be killed as well, and I refuse to risk that, not even for the relief of being honest with you out loud, in my own Voice._

_I hope that someday I can; I hope that, whatever Destiny needs you for, my darling, that it grants me – us – the chance to speak to each other in our true Voices, if only once._

Jaskier read well into the night. He didn’t know what to think, how to feel. He wasn’t human; he supposed it was fortunate that he had no particular prejudice against non-humans, or he might well have felt sickened by just that fact. But he wasn’t a witcher, or elf, or dwarf. He was part Siren, and all he knew of Sirens was that they were hunted wherever they were found. Hells, he knew full well that _Geralt_ had hunted a Siren once, one who had been luring fishermen to their deaths somewhere in Skellige.

Jaskier wondered if that had been another of his cousins. He wondered if, should Geralt learn of his bloodline, he would hunt _Jaskier_ , too.

He stayed locked in his mother’s study for days, only leaving the room to use the privy and pick up or leave the trays of food that were left for him. He caught brief naps on the settee when exhaustion made it impossible to even see the words on the pages. His mother had been a prolific writer, and his only comfort from the words was how often she spoke of her love for him. He didn’t want the rest of it. He didn’t want to be part Siren, he didn’t want the potential to have a Siren’s Voice – an apparently supernatural ability that Sirens could use at will to cloud the mind and bend people to their will, their weapon of choice, used to lure sailors into dashing their boats upon rocks in the water, drowning all aboard. He didn’t want the apparently extended lifespan; what was he to do with it? He couldn’t stay Count Pankratz for a couple centuries, humans wouldn’t allow it. He’d be hunted and killed! Gods, people were _already_ noticing what he had paid little attention to. His face remained unlined, not even a hint of gray in his hair or the faintest of crow’s feet at his eyes to mark his age. _Eskel_ had thought him barely thirty. She had even left him instructions on how to coax forth that terrifying ability, and he was afraid that he had already touched the edges of it with Lambert; the way his voice had sounded strange even to his own ears, the way his throat had kind of hurt when he’d been yelling, how Lambert had just so suddenly obeyed. He had never been so angry before, but then, no one had ever threatened something so personal before.

He didn’t have nearly as much time as he’d thought to get Theo ready to take over. As it was, he thought he might have to risk asking the druid for a bit of a glamour for himself, something that would slowly start to age him. He thought he could give the poor boy at least ten years; he had turned twelve last winter. If he went to Oxenfurt in the fall, that would put him graduating when Jaskier had, at sixteen. Young, but not unheard of. Perhaps another four for him to work as a healer somewhere, either at Oxenfurt or by traveling, though he would have to make certain that Theo had an escort. He doubted the boy would get into the types of scrapes that Jaskier had, but he also didn’t think he would be able to charm his way out of trouble if he did.

Unless Jaskier hadn’t been charming people with his wit and words, but using his Voice to influence them, all unknowing.

The thought made him throw up. He couldn’t bear the idea that he had been influencing others’ minds by magical means rather than his own wit; had he done it to any of his lovers? He had been turned down as often as he’d been accepted, so he hoped not, but now he couldn’t be sure.

Jaskier could not remain locked away forever. He had four young children who were bound to be confused, not to mention an entire household of people who knew just how out of the ordinary his behavior was. Sure, he’d been gone for years and years, but whenever he had been home, he had never locked himself away. Not even after the worst of the fights with his father. He wasn’t sure what excuse he could give to any of them, and for once, hoped that at least most of them would go with the tradition of staff not questioning the head of the house. The thought shamed him; he had never wanted to be like that with his people. Had never thought that a situation would arise where he wanted to use that class prejudice, but he had no idea what to say. What excuse could he give? Oh certainly, finding a magically hidden cache of his mother’s writings to him was an excellent reason, but why were they hidden, and hidden _magically_? And why did the writings leave him obviously upset? He was a fair actor, but he doubted he’d be able to walk out and put on any sort of sunny façade when his mind was still reeling, still processing what he was. What he would have to do, and the fact that he would have to spend the rest of his life living a lie.

He pulled himself as together as he was able to after making certain every last one of the slim books was hidden away again. His first stop was his own suite, so that he could bathe and change into clothing that hadn’t been worn and slept in for several days. It actually helped him feel marginally better, and his mind cleared again. Perhaps just the hidden journals was enough; who could begrudge him some emotional turmoil after finding his mother’s writings to him, after he had lost so much time with her? It had been his one regret, really, about his lifestyle; it kept him on the road, and though he’d written when he’d been able, he had still had little contact with her once he’d been sent to Oxenfurt. He had just never expected her to die so young. He’d always expected more _time_ , but he knew now that his mother had not begrudged him his life, particularly when she’d known how he felt about Geralt. She was the only one he had ever told, and she had been happy for him, and convinced as he had once been that Geralt would love him in return.

When he wandered downstairs for lunch, carefully thinking only of the loving words and not the damning ones so that he could sell the edited truth more easily, he was thrown entirely off balance by the sight of Eskel waiting in the dining room. He could not help the bolt of sheer terror that swept through him – why? Why was Eskel there, had Lambert figured something out, suspected something, and sent Eskel to deal with him?

Eskel shot to his feet, one hand reaching for a sword he wasn’t actually wearing. “Jaskier, what is it? Why are you – fuck. Are you afraid…of _me_?” he asked, hurt.

“I – no, I mean. Why are you here? What did Lambert say to you?”

“Lambert didn’t say a damned thing to me once we left Kaer Morhen. Alan sent me a message that Lambert had done something and you had banned him from setting foot in Lettenhove.” Very slowly, hands out like he was trying to tame a skittish animal, Eskel rounded the table and started to walk towards him. “I can hear your heartbeat, Jaskier. What happened? Why are you afraid of me?”

“I’m not,” Jaskier told him, desperately trying to calm down. Of course Eskel wasn’t there to kill him; he wouldn’t have been waiting in the dining room, he would have tracked him down and killed him in his mother’s study!

“You are. I can smell it. Please, Jaskier, what _happened_? I know we don’t know each other very well, but I thought you…trusted me. Liked me. I’m your friend, whatever happened,” Eskel promised.

“Th-thank you, that’s kind of you. I just.” Jaskier stopped. He had been prepared to put on a façade for Aidan and Alan, for the children and the rest of his people. He had not been prepared for a witcher, who could smell the lie on him no matter what his voice and face and body language said. He _was_ afraid. He was afraid that he would be killed for what he now knew himself to be, for an ability he hadn’t known he possessed but might have used in the past regardless. He didn’t want it to be at the hands of someone he knew and cared about; almost better to have kept Lambert around, if only so he would not have to see Eskel’s face when he did it. And he was right there, and it was too new; if he’d had time, maybe he could have made himself so used to it that he just didn’t think about it anymore, but there wasn’t time for that. “I need a little time. Just – until after dinner? And then I’ll tell you,” he promised.

Eskel studied him. “Alright. I can wait.”

“Thank you.” Plans thoroughly changed, Jaskier turned and left again. He was no longer in a place to even force himself to eat. Instead, he went to his study and began to draft the documents that would officially make Theo his heir – and the other documents that would list Aidan and Alan as his guardians, if something happened to Jaskier before Theo came of age, which could possibly be that night. Aidan would not thank him for it, nor would Alan; Aidan had been training his eldest son to take over and was looking forward to retirement in another year or so, and he doubted Alan had much interest in raising a teen boy. But Aidan would need Alan as backup to help enforce his decisions. Aidan was too used to obeying, and Aunt Trin would move in right away. Alan had no fucks to give for her rank and would be just the backbone Aidan would need.

The documents were quite long, as there were a number of things he wanted thoroughly spelled out for all involved so that the people and the children would be protected and treated well. Only Theo could change any of rules Jaskier set in place, and only when he came of age and officially became Count. Or, well, the king could as well, but he doubted the king would be bothered with the problems of his most rural nobles, as long as the grain and taxes still flowed in.

When he finished, it was well into evening. He locked the paperwork in his desk and went to find Eskel. “Shall we go for a ride?” he suggested when he found the witcher in the library.

Eskel’s eyebrows climbed high, but he nodded. In short order, two horses were saddled and ready, and Jaskier pointed them away from the town and towards the woods. After about half an hour of riding, he slowed his mount to a walk. “I suppose this is a pretty enough spot. Are we alone, sir witcher?”

“We are, unless you mean to hide from insects and animals as well. What’s going on, Jaskier?”

Jaskier fixed his gaze on his horse’s ears. “Lambert…was suspicious of me. He seemed to feel that my offer of a place to stay had hidden strings, and he was determined to find them. He was a complete ass, extremely insulting, but it wasn’t anything that I couldn’t ignore. But…he found something. A concealment spell, in my mother’s study.” As concisely as he could, he relayed the fight with Lambert, and a summary of what his mother’s writings had told him.

“I see,” Eskel said steadily. “Do you think I will kill you, Jaskier?”

“I don’t know. I _know_ witchers kill sirens. And if what mother says is true, I at least have the potential to control others with my Voice – and I think I might have, with Lambert. He doesn’t strike me as the type to just walk away because someone yells at him.” He finally dragged his gaze away from his horse’s ears to look at Eskel. “So I don’t know, Eskel. It’s not like I’m part elf, or dwarf or something. I’m part _monster_. My mother spent her life using her Voice to keep my father from being too cruel while she lived – I always wondered about that, how he seemed to give into her when he wouldn’t dream of indulging anyone else. I thought it was love,” he spat. “A twisted form I didn’t understand, but love all the same, and instead it was her using her Voice on him. What am I to think? How many people gave money they didn’t truly wish to part with when I performed? How many of my lovers did I inadvertently coerce into my bed when they might not have truly wanted to be there?”

“I think you can rest easy on that count, Jaskier,” Eskel said, actually sounding rather amused.

“Why! Why do you think that, Eskel, and what the fuck is so funny?”

The tiny hint of a smile that hovered at the edges of his mouth vanished, and Eskel regarded him with serious eyes. “Because you have been in love with Geralt for half your life. I can hear it in your voice when you sing of him, and I can smell it whenever you think of him, or when someone says his name. If you had been using your Voice to get people into your bed, you would have had Geralt there long ago. I think you might have given Lambert a push to leave; you’re right, he’s not the type to go when he’s got a burr up his ass. Could you feel it? I can tell when I have successfully cast one of the signs.”

Jaskier’s fingers ghosted over his throat. “It was..sharp. I’ve never heard my voice sound like that, and I have been extremely well trained, vocally,” he allowed. “But I can’t be _sure_ , Eskel. The only thing I know is that I am part monster, and if it’s found out, humans would certainly kill me.”

“And you thought I would.”

“Witchers kill monsters. I can’t even be sure I’ve never hurt anyone – how can _you_ be?” And Jaskier realized that he really wanted to know, _needed_ to hear that he wasn’t a monster, that he hadn’t sung anyone out of desperately needed coin or into his bed, that no one had gone hungry or woken later feeling sick and confused and wondering why they’d slept with him.

“Jaskier.” Eskel reached out and gripped his hand, and it felt like an anchor in a storm. “The kind of ability that you’re talking about requires a great deal of intent and will behind it. Focus. And you would definitely have felt something. The absolute worst you could have done without actively _trying to_ would be influence and frankly, you’re clever enough at that with just unpowered words. And you haven’t got the greed or malice in you to want to override anyone else’s will. Whatever touch of power you might have put into the command for Lambert to leave…” Eskel shook his head. “You felt something then, and you were in the middle of some pretty intense emotions and he was getting in the way and being an ass. Have you ever been that angry before?”

Jaskier frowned. “Close,” he admitted. “Fighting with my father, and once or twice when someone was particularly cruel to Geralt, but. My mother always calmed down both me and my father, and when I was with Geralt, I was usually too busy with creative insults to try to, well, order anyone to go drown themselves or something.” He thought of something else and relaxed a little. “I suppose that, were I to try to impel someone into something against their will, it would have been Valdo Marx. He’s dreadful, really, and I would love to see him dunk his head in a used chamber pot and wear it as a hat for a week.”

Eskel looked a little startled at the almost cheerful malice with which Jaskier said that, but he recovered quickly. “I’d be interested in the story behind that someday, but there you go.”

Jaskier looked down at their clasped hands. “Why did you come, Eskel? Really,” he asked softly. “Just because Lambert was mean to me?”

“Because you may be the kindest man I have ever met, genuinely generous and giving, and I was worried about what Lambert had done to deserve being thrown out – and I was worried about you. You grieved for a man you didn’t even know well because you had to sentence him to a punishment you don’t agree with, after he had spent years robbing his neighbors of money they could ill afford to lose. You wander around in that great big place, and you care so much for the people, you want to make things better for them, and you don’t have to. It would have been easier for you to choose your own happiness over duty, and you didn’t. You still haven’t, no matter how lonely and unhappy you are here.” He pulled a little, guiding his horse closer to Jaskier with his knees so he could slide his hand up Jaskier’s arm and around his shoulder. “Because I was worried about my friend.”

Almost desperately, Jaskier slid both arms around him as best he could. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“Anytime, Jaskier. I mean that. You don’t have to deal with this alone,” Eskel promised.

They stayed like that right up until the horses decided their riders were being weird and they weren’t keen on putting up with it anymore. They shied away from each other, taking Jaskier and Eskel with them. Jaskier chuckled, a sound full of relief and some real humor. “Okay. Okay, we should probably get back. I need to check on the kids, make sure they know everything is okay. And, Eskel….” He looked up and met his eyes squarely. “I’m sorry about earlier. Being afraid and all. I just –“

“Nope. Sirens have a horrid reputation. The only ones most people hear of are the ones who end up needing to be killed. They weren’t always that way, but that’s all anyone knows of them anymore. And I hate to say it, but there are some of my kind that absolutely would kill you if they knew,” Eskel told him somberly. “I don’t think any of my school would, but the others? There’s some I wouldn’t trust as far as _you_ could throw them. It’s best we keep this quiet.” Jaskier nodded his agreement.

When they got back to the house, he found the kids all still awake. They swarmed him, clearly worried about his odd behavior. Jaskier escorted them to their rooms, but before tucking them in, he sat them down and tried to explain. “I’m sorry I’ve been hiding away the last few days. I know that’s not like me. Lambert was….” He searched for a description and then just went with the truth. They heard worse language from Alan. “Lambert was an asshole. He didn’t hurt me, but he was remarkably unkind. We had found some journals that my mother had hidden away for me. I miss her, very much, and so it meant a great deal to me to find those, and he tried to make it into something unpleasant and take them from me.”

“Is Eskel nicer?” Kara asked.

“Oh, very much nicer. Have you gotten to meet him?”

They all exchanged looks and then shook their heads. “We didn’t really want to,” Theo explained. “The last one made you so upset, we didn’t even want him here, but Aidan said you were friends and we had to let him stay unless you said otherwise,” he explained.

“I understand. I won’t make you meet him if you don’t want to, but he truly is my friend. And he’s definitely not grumpy,” he added.

There was another round of looks exchanged. “Alright, Cousin. We’ll meet him. But if he’s mean to you like Lambert was, we shan’t like him,” Kara declared.

“That’s fair. I couldn’t ask for more,” Jaskier said, touched. He gave each of them a hug and tucked the younger three into bed. Theo was a little old for actual bed tucking, but he walked him to his room and sat on the chair as the boy climbed in. “I filled out some paperwork today, Theo. Reading all those journals for my mother got me thinking,” he explained carefully. “She was taken from me in an accident. No one expected it, and I had spent so much time away….but that’s not the point. The point is that we are not promised tomorrow. As of today, you are officially my heir. If something happens to me before you reach your majority, Aidan and Alan will be your guardians – you and your cousins.”

“Because grandmother and father are cruel, and they would undo all the nice things you’ve done since you became Count,” Theo said, grasping the essentials quickly.

“Yes, just so. It is not a burden I want you to bear any time soon, but there’s a responsibility that comes with our station that we can’t ignore. You will still have your schooling. I want you to be a healer, if that is what you wish. Being able to live as a bard for so long meant more to me than I can properly say, and I want you to have that, for as long as possible.”

Theo chewed his lips. “Why did you bring Roddy and Victor and Kara? I thought maybe it was because you weren’t sure you wanted me as heir, but that’s not really it, is it?”

“No, it’s not. It’s because of the way all your parents and your grandmother were raising you four. Your older sibling and cousins, well, they’ve had all the kindness and empathy trained out of them. I doubted there was anything much I could do to change that. But the four of you were young enough that I hoped I could show you a better way. So that you don’t feel the need to cut others down to make yourselves feel better than them, so you recognize the value of people no matter what their rank is or how wealthy they are. Much of our family, well, they are not kind people.”

“I understand.” Theo fidgeted a little with his blankets. “But you’re not sick or anything, right? Only Helga has been teaching me about illnesses and there are some that can’t be cured and all.”

“I am completely fit and healthy – no illnesses,” Jaskier promised. “I’m not planning on going anywhere, but I am planning in case something happens. I want you all to be cared for by people who give a damn about you, and Aidan and Alan do.”

“Okay. Thank you for telling me, Cousin. Father never told me anything, except when I disappointed him or grandmother. And I always disappointed them.”

“I know what you mean. I always disappointed my father. But **I** am very proud of you; you and your cousins.” Actual tears welled up in the boy’s eyes and Jaskier said fuck it to the idea of him being too old for being tucked in, or any other damn thing, and moved to the bed to hug him. “You’re a smart, caring boy, Theo, of _course_ I’m proud of you,” he promised. “I should have told you so much sooner.” He held on until the boy had wept himself out and made plans for private talks with the other three so that he could make certain _they_ knew how much he cared for them and was proud of the caring young people they were growing into.

When Theo had cried himself out, Jaskier wiped his face and pushed him down into his pillow. “Sweet dreams, Theo. I’ll see you at breakfast in the morning, alright?”

“Goodnight, Cousin,” Theo returned, sounding faintly embarrassed. Jaskier just tucked the blankets under his chin and blew out the candle.

Eskel was loitering conspicuously near the entrance to the family rooms and favored Jaskier with a soft smile when he emerged. “You’re good with them,” he commented.

“I try. The gods know they didn’t get much warmth from their parents,” he sighed.

Eskel snaked an arm around his waist and pulled him close. “You give yourself too little credit.”

“Oh darling, I give myself nothing _but_ credit, just ask around!” He hadn’t wanted to presume but being hauled so close was a fair indication that Eskel wanted to play some more. Warm lips found their way to his neck, making him shiver. “You know,” he said, just a tiny bit breathless already, “I finally got around to having the baths improved. Not sure you’ve had a chance to find that out yet. Makes it so much more convenient to clean up after one gets all dirty.”

“You know, I _haven’t_ had a chance. Why don’t you show me.” Eskel slid his fingers down the back of Jaskier’s trousers, just teasing his cleft. It made his waistband dig in a bit, but the tease felt too good to care.

“Do you recall where my rooms are?” Jaskier hinted broadly. Eskel chuckled, then shifted and tossed Jaskier over his shoulder, the hand down his trousers never leaving off their task.


	7. Chapter 7

Eskel, most agreeably, stayed with him the whole night, which was always Jaskier’s preference in a bed partner but not something he’d always gotten. When they woke again in the morning, it was the most normal Jaskier had felt in days – over a week, really, all told. They washed and dressed and Jaskier reveled in the hands that kept wandering over his skin, seemingly just for the sake of touching him.

The children were already at the table when they went down for breakfast. Jaskier took his seat, smiling cheerfully around, and then frowned as Zara got up and marched right up to Eskel, seated to his immediate left.

“The other witcher was not nice to Cousin Julian,” she informed him sternly. One slender little finger pointed straight at his nose. “You better be nice to Cousin Julian, or we shall tell everyone that you are a terrible witcher who can’t kill monsters and then no one shall hire you, and then what will you do?”

Eskel was kind enough not to laugh at her. With a very serious face, he nodded. “I promise to be nice to your Cousin Julian. And I am sorry about Lambert – he’s almost never nice to anyone.”

She scowled up at him, unappeased. “If he was here I would punch him in the nose! Cousin Julian is nice to _everyone_ and everyone likes him! He’s making sure all the farm children are smart, and he makes sure everyone has good clothes and enough to eat and the guards all have proper swords so they can defend us from brigands and thieves! If you were _really_ sorry about Lambert, you would punch him in the nose the next time you see him.”

“Is that my lady’s wish?”

“Yes it is!” She shoved a hand in her pocket and pulled out some coins, a bit of the pocket money that Jaskier made sure all the children had to buy sweets or trinkets in town, if they wished. She handed them over. “That’s how it works, right? You get paid to kill monsters, then you can get paid to punch an asshole!”

Jaskier covered his sudden laughter with coughing, hastily gulping his juice when all eyes turned towards him. “Sorry! Um, sorry, had a bit of something go down the wrong way. Kara, dearest, witchers don’t really –“

“Jaskier, it’s quite alright.” Rather solemnly, Eskel accepted the bits of copper from her. “The first opportunity, I swear, I shall punch him right on the nose,” he promised.

“Good.” Evidently satisfied, she crossed back around to her seat and resumed eating. Victor nudged her. “You’re not supposed to say ‘asshole’” he hissed. “Only men are allowed to swear.”

“That’s stupid. If someone is an asshole, why can’t I say he’s an asshole? Me being a girl doesn’t change that,” she argued back, not bothering to keep her voice down.

Jaskier cleared his throat. “Kara, darling, we’ll talk about when it is and is not appropriate for someone to swear. I shouldn’t like to hear the yelling if your parents or grandmother heard you say that word. And boys, that goes for you all as well. **I** have no objections, but there will be times and places where it would be extremely inappropriate.”

He got various mumbles of assent before food started being shoveled into faces. Jaskier traded an amused look with Eskel before applying himself to his own breakfast. He had, after all, worked up quite the appetite the previous night.

He walked the kids to school and chatted briefly with Jirel as kids streamed into the building. The man seemed pleased to see him, and delicately danced around asking if all was well. Apparently his absence had been noticed. He made a few vague excuses that didn’t mention hidden journals or witchers at all, invited Jirel up to the house for dinner seeing as how Eskel and the teacher had gotten on well enough last year, and made his escape.

He had vague thoughts of trying to entice Eskel back up to his rooms for more sweaty, ignoring the world fun. Eskel derailed that rather neatly by meeting him at the gate with a pair of saddled horses. “I fancy another ride, Jaskier. Show the woods again, would you?”

Heart sinking, Jaskier almost declined. He _could_ make excuses – ledgers or yelling about the horses or some such, but that would only delay whatever this was; Eskel’s gaze was too serious to be put off forever. Stifling a sigh, he mounted the horse and let Eskel lead the way. They found themselves back in the same random, secluded spot from the day before, and Jaskier urged his horse to a stop. “Alright. What is it? Was it Kara, this morning? I _have_ told them that witchers don’t take contracts to hurt people, just monsters, you know, _you’re_ the one that took her coin to punch Lambert.”

“And I’ll enjoy doing so that much more when I see him,” Eskel said calmly. “No, Jaskier, that isn’t it. I think you should try to tap into your Voice. I think you should practice, and you should practice on me.”

Jaskier jerked back, making his horse dance and shy. “No!”

Still calm, Eskel reached out to grab his horse’s reins, calming her. “Yes, Jaskier. Witchers have some resistance to a siren’s call, though we aren’t entirely immune. You know you have this in you; we’re both reasonably sure you touched it when you ordered Lambert away. You’re afraid of doing it to someone accidentally, and that’s not entirely unfounded. A siren’s song is…deadly, Jaskier. When a siren hunts humans, they can override the most sensible of sailor and draw them to their deaths on the rocks. When they really sing, no one can resist. _Witchers_ have fallen prey to their songs. It’s unwise to have the ability lurking within you and not know how to use it. And it could save your life, if you get control of it.”

“I am _not_ going to sing you under my thrall,” Jaskier snapped. “I don’t care about some possible future life saving, Eskel. That isn’t something you _do_ , and most assuredly not to a friend!”

Eskel swung down and then reached up to pull Jaskier down. The horses didn’t care for all the commotion and wandered a few feet away to nibble on some choice greenery and ignore their misbehaving riders. “Listen to me, Jaskier. You don’t want to have a power inside you that you can’t control. Have you considered that? What you might do, accidentally, if someone made you angry enough? And I’m not saying you would wish harm to someone, but everyone can let their mouths run away from them when they’re angry. This is dangerous, and you’re right: if people knew, it would not go well for you. I want you _safe._ ”

“And I want not to put a friend under some kind of mind control!”

“I told you, witchers have resistance. And if you like, we can agree on what you’re allowed to command me to do. Nothing I would not do anyway, I simply won’t while you practice. This is important, Jaskier.”

Jaskier scoffed and turned away, arms wrapped tight around his middle. “I don’t want it. I don’t want to have such a power. People with power tend to use it, and it gets easier and easier to use it, and less care is taken.”

“Not you,” Eskel said positively. “You have all but unlimited power here already. You could have chosen to do anything, and yet you’ve used it only to improve the lives of your people. You aren’t going to enthrall anyone to your will, Jaskier – not unless you absolutely have to, to save someone. I know it.”

“I don’t!” He whirled. “My mother spent the whole of her marriage thralling my father into doing as she wanted him to. And she supposedly cared for him! She was thrilled when I went off to Oxenfurt to learn to be a bard. Why do you think that is? A siren wanting her offspring to learn to sing?”

“You know it doesn’t have to be a song, Jaskier. You weren’t singing when you ordered Lambert out.”

“Stop, please.” He could feel tears welling up and angrily scrubbed them away. “I don’t want this. I want nothing to do with this.”

Warm hands slid around his middle until he was pulled back against a well muscled chest. “I know. I know you don’t. But it’s reality, Jaskier. And I am afraid for you. Without control, it could come out at the worst possible time. If I knew of a way to take it from you, I would suggest that instead. There isn’t, though. All I know to do is get it under control so that it can’t come out by accident. It’s a fucking miracle it hasn’t happened before. Please.”

For several long, interminable minutes, Jaskier stood shuddering in the circle of his arms. Eskel didn’t keep pressing, but then, he didn’t really have to. It made too much sense. “I don’t want this,” he whispered, defeated.

“I know.”

It was not a fast process. Part of it was Jaskier’s unwillingness, even after he’d agreed, to thrall his friend. The list of commands that they had agreed upon helped a bit, as there was indeed nothing on the list that Eskel was not willing to do, and indeed had done already, but coercion was so anathema to him that everything within him rebelled over the very idea of it. Much of their practice time, hidden deeply in the woods with Eskel alert to any watchers, was spent with Eskel encouraging him to get past that. Slowly, Jaskier was worn down. Slowly, he simply got tired of hearing over and over how he needed to learn. He had his friend with him, and they spent all their time working on this awful thing, this Voice that he was supposed to have, and he wanted it done with. He finally committed to it, if only so that it would be finished and he could maybe just have some time with Eskel – outside of bed, as the man still shared his bed at night – where they weren’t focused on this thing of his.

And so he started to sing. It was intent, after all. Focus and will, and Jaskier was never so focused as when he sang. And sirens were meant to sing people to their wishes, weren’t they? So he sang, focusing intently on one of the commands they’d agreed upon, while Eskel leaned against a tree and read a book, handily tuning him out. Jaskier focused and _willed_ and then his voice changed; became richer and purer than he’d ever heard it before, and Eskel dropped the book and lurched to his feet, eyes gone wide. Jaskier stopped out of pure astonishment. “Was that – did I…”

“I think you did. Were you thinking of me kissing you?”

“Yes. What,” he licked his lips. “What did it feel like?”

“Desire. An almost overwhelming desire to kiss you. For a moment, it was all I could think about, all I wanted in the world.” Jaskier shuddered, revulsion twisting his insides into knots. “The sound of your voice changed as well. Did it hurt, as you said it did with Lambert?”

“No. It felt,” he shrugged. “It felt good, right. Like singing always does.”

“It’s likely the emotion makes a difference. Try again, Jaskier.” He reached out and squeezed Jaskier’s hands when he made an unhappy face. “I know. But you’ve got it, now. Don’t lose it. Do it again, until you can do it without singing, until you know exactly when you’re switching it on.” He settled back against his tree and picked up his book again.

Mouth twisted, Jaskier nodded and started to sing again. It came easier the second time, somehow. Jaskier did truly _want_ Eskel’s kiss, which no doubt helped a great deal. He wanted the simple, easy affection of it, the acceptance. He searched for that pure tone and found it, and Eskel again lurched to his feet, relaxing only when Jaskier shifted his voice back to his normal range. He tried again to will it without changing his voice, but it didn’t seem to work; Eskel was able to keep ignoring him until he dipped into that tone again, and the fact of that was bittersweet; he would do almost anything to have his voice sound that perfect when performing, but it wasn’t going to happen. Couldn’t happen, even if all he wanted was for his audience to enjoy his music, _forcing_ that enjoyment was wrong.

When they were both certain of his control while singing, Eskel insisted he work on control while simply speaking. It had worked with Lambert, it would work again. And he was right; it took far less time to get the knack of it while simply commanding the kiss rather than singing for it. His voice still changed, rang clearer than any bell, and though Eskel had claimed that witchers had a resistance, Jaskier saw little evidence of that when he found his Voice and the witcher lurched helplessly to his feet, eyes totally vacant, to deliver the kiss; he wasn’t able to stop himself as he had when Jaskier had been singing, and Jaskier stumbled back, throat closing. “You’re supposed to resist!”

Eskel shook his head as though to clear it. “That was – I couldn’t resist. Holy fuck, Jaskier, that was strong. Strongest yet.”

“No more. Please, Eskel, no more. I can’t – there wasn’t anyone behind your eyes! Don’t make me do that again,” he begged. “I had rather cut my own throat.”

“Hey, no, shh. It’s alright, Jaskier. Come here.” Much like Barney soothing an agitated horse, Eskel clucked and shushed and pulled until Jaskier was held tightly against him. “We won’t do it anymore,” he promised. “You’ve got the feel of it now, you can use it if you absolutely have to. It’s alright,” he repeated.

“How could mother do that, over and over again?” he whispered. “There was nothing there, Eskel. Like you weren’t even there. How could she do that to someone, over and over again?”

Eskel pressed a little kiss to his ear. “I imagine it was different, for her. She was raised from day one to be what she was. It was stronger in her, and I’m sure it came naturally. She likely thought she was doing something good with it, smoothing out your father’s arrogance and selfishness. I doubt she was raised to think it wrong, or to think of herself as a monster; you’ve heard naught but stories of sirens killing indiscriminately, using their Voices for destruction and death. And you seem to have _very_ strong opinions on mind control and coercion.” The last was a question inviting answer.

“I do.” He chewed his lip. “When I was young, my last year at university, there was another man there. He was charming and popular and had a great deal of influence. He employed a mix of wine and herbs with empty promises and worse threats to gain bed partners and keep them from complaining publicly afterwards. And…well. Geralt. When we met his witch, she did something to him, some kind of spell that made him her puppet.” His mouth twisted, remembering. “I gathered that he had already agreed to do as she wished if she could cure me, she didn’t need to do that. She did it anyway, and he _still_ went running after her every fucking time –“ He snapped his mouth closed on the words. None of that really mattered, anymore, and he didn’t care for the bitterness in his own voice, speaking of it.

“Hm.” Eskel tightened his arms and pressed another kiss to his ear. “Everything is okay, Jaskier. You got the hang of it, it won’t get away from you by accident, and you can use it if you absolutely have to in order to defend yourself. We won’t touch it again. Come, let me take you home.”

With gentle hands and soft voice, Eskel chivvied Jaskier onto his horse and led him back home and then ushered him into his rooms. Jaskier wasn’t sure if it was for him or for Eskel or both that Eskel laid him out and took him apart. Either way, it was the distraction he needed. Eskel held his gaze throughout, every kiss given with wide eyes so that Jaskier could see _him_ shining out, nothing of that blank, dead gaze his Voice had wrought.

He was glad that Eskel had turned out to be a cuddler. Not many were, which was a shame. Jaskier liked the quiet closeness when passion was spent, laying pressed skin to skin and letting his mind drift. It was a little easier to consider all his ‘practicing’, his eventual success, when all his limbs felt like jelly.

He could have been happy never thinking of his nature and ability ever again, except that Eskel was too right, and he probably would have had nightmares about accidentally thralling someone if he hadn’t gotten a handle on it. As it was, he knew that once Eskel left, he was likely to still have nightmares, mostly about being found out and horribly slaughtered – he was under no illusions about the mercy of humans. Worst would be when his mind, almost inevitably, showed him Geralt’s face behind the sword that would take his life.

“You’re thinking of Geralt again, and they are not happy thoughts,” Eskel observed.

“No,” Jaskier agreed. “They are not. I know my dream mind too well not to see what is coming for me when you are away.” With monumental effort, he lifted his head. “How did you know?”

“I’ve told you, you smell like love anytime you think of him, anytime his name is mentioned. And this time you smelled a little like fear, too.”

Jaskier let that sink in, finally. He’d known that Geralt could smell things like lust or lies or anger, but to distinguish something as all consuming and complicated as love? “Do you mean to tell me,” he said slowly, “that he knew? Every step we traveled together, he could smell what I felt for him? And still he – he sent me away as he did! Gods!” He rolled away, hands pressed to his chest as though he could somehow stifle the fresh heartbreak, shove the grief down to where he could no longer feel it. “I thought him oblivious, not cruel,” he whispered, voice and breath hitching.

“He probably was, Jaskier. Shit, please, come here. Come here, Jaskier.” Jaskier was again pulled against a firm chest, and this time Eskel actually started to rock him a little. “Scent is – we can smell things that others can’t, obviously, but. Knowing you, you fell for him very quickly, yes?” Jaskier nodded. “Then he undoubtedly never realized that scent was for _him_. You would have smelled like it, always, even when you found another to take to bed – he would never have guessed it was for _him_ , because he really is a giant, oblivious idiot. Fuck, I need to learn to keep my mouth shut,” he muttered, probably to himself.

“He never…spoke of me? Said anything to suggest that he – he knew?” Jaskier begged.

“He spoke of you often, once. Until, well, until you two had whatever your falling out was. He spoke of you fondly enough, but I never suspected your feelings until we met, so I don’t think he did, either.”

Jaskier sniffed. “You’re lying,” he declared, trying to sound fond. “Geralt doesn’t speak often at all, and it’s even more rare for him to speak fondly of anything other than Roach.”

Eskel chuckled. “He did, Jaskier. He’s not quite so stoic over winter. We all relax a bit, when we are in Kaer Morhen. He spoke of you fondly, and with exasperation, right up until he didn’t anymore. What…what happened? You said you didn’t part on the best of terms?”

“He blamed me for all the ill in his life. For his Child Surprise, and the djinn’s wish that bound him somehow to the witch. When she learned of it, she dumped him then and there, and he turned on me. Said that if life could give him one blessing, it would be to take me off his hands.” Jaskier shrugged. “I got the message about my father’s death the same day, and I have been here since.”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean it. He was just lashing out,” Eskel tried.

“Oh, I know. But if he gave enough of a shit, he could have found me by now to apologize, and he hasn’t. Seems he’s quite content out there on his own, as he’d always said he would be. I never fully took him seriously when he’d say such things, or claim we weren’t friends – at least, not after the first decade,” he added bitterly. “It was hard enough knowing he threw away my friendship. If he _knew_ , gods, I don’t have a shred of fucking dignity to cling to then, do I?” Eskel only sighed and hugged him tighter, eventually soothing him into lying down and into something resembling sleep.

Over the next couple of days, Eskel hovered. There was no other word for it. He took to pulling out Jaskier’s chair for him, heaping his plate with the choicest bits, pouring juice or wine. Outside of meals, he urged Jaskier to his favorite spots and pulled stories from him and music, and when that wasn’t enough, began to tell his own stories, detailing how each of his scars had happened – anything and everything to cosset and distract Jaskier.

He was the dearest man, truly, and he didn’t think he could have gotten through learning his bloodline and power without him, but Jaskier finally had to put his foot down. “Darling, you know I adore you, yes?” he began. Eskel beamed at him. “But this has to stop,” he continued before Eskel could say anything. Eskel lost his smile. “How long do you intend to remain here, doting on me? You know you can stay as long as you like, but don’t you have something more important to be doing, monsters to slay?”

“I can stay as long as you need,” Eskel protested.

Jaskier wound his arms around his neck and gave him a long, tender kiss. “Darling, you have no idea what that means to me. But I _am_ alright, I promise you. You’ve seen to that.”

Eskel sighed, looking resigned. “I don’t really want to leave you,” he admitted. “But I really should.”

“I know, dearest, that’s why I said something. Believe me, I am a greedy thing, and if it were up to me I would keep you here always so I could spoil you and you could spoil me right back.” Jaskier nuzzled closer, let his lips trail over his slow pulse. He left off with a light nip to his jaw. “If the Path brings you near again, I hope you’ll stop by. And if it brings you near when winter is ready to fall….” He trailed off, a little worried about being too greedy.

“I can’t promise that but I’ll try,” Eskel told him.

“I couldn’t ask for more. Now! There is one last thing you can do for me before you get ready to go.”

“Oh?”

“Come pick out a horse. I’ve far too many, even with Barney swearing he won’t let any more of my mares get pregnant.”

“Jaskier, that’s too much!”

“Nonsense!” Jaskier waved that off. “I’m quite serious, dearest, we’ve too many. Apparently many of the new cows we’ve gotten are pregnant as well, and I wouldn’t mind saving a bit of hay. Besides.” He shifted on the couch they were sharing until he straddled the witcher’s lap. “I like knowing you can get quickly out of town, should your welcome be less than warm. I would go with you myself, if I could, share the road and expenses and everything, look after you as much as I am able, but I can’t. Let me do this for you, at least.”

Eskel studied him seriously for several long moments before he finally relented. “Alright. If it means so much to you, I’ll take a horse.” Jaskier whooped and planted a fast, hard kiss on his mouth. He grinned and ran his thumb along Jaskier’s smiling mouth. “Worth it, just for that sunshine smile of yours.” His grin widened as Jaskier, inexplicably, blushed.

Barney was far less pleased and pouted terribly when Jaskier informed him. The three pregnant horses were, of course, off limits, and the stallions tended to be a rowdy bunch (not to mention _randy_ ) so Eskel went over the mares. He went through the bulk of the herd, which was no mean feat, as there were nearly a hundred all told in his stables, around sixty of them female. He finally settled on a pretty dappled mare, about the same size as Roach.

“That’s Duchess!” Barney protested. “She’s barely two, and such a sweet, loving lass.”

“Barney,” Jaskier said sternly. “If Eskel thinks she’ll suit, she’ll go with him. But he’s not going to take her right up to any monsters, you know. She won’t be in any danger.”

“Of course I won’t,” Eskel promised. He left off that there was always a chance to randomly encounter one, but that was fairly rare; he’d hear or smell something coming before the horse could be in any danger.

“But sleeping out on the road, instead of in her nice warm stable!”

“She’ll probably enjoy it,” Jaskier pointed out. “Horses lived wild before people came along. She’ll be happy and well cared for, Barney, and you’ll be able to check on her whenever Eskel stops by to visit. Now hush; you’re getting yourself all upset, and you’ll soon have three new foals to train, and you don’t want to upset the soon to be mommas, do you?”

Grumbling and throwing wounded looks Jaskier’s way, Barney ambled off and very grudgingly returned with tack and a bag of grain. “She’s partial to clover, and she’ll walk through fire for sugar,” he said gruffly. “Her mouth is fair sensitive, so you need just a light touch.”

“I’ll take excellent care of her, Master Barney, you have my word,” Eskel swore. He tried to help get her ready, but Barney batted at his hands until he backed off and let him get on with it. “Are you sure this is a good idea? I could choose another, if he’s so attached,” he whispered.

“He’ll be that attached to any of them you chose. He adores each and every one of them, and if I let him have his way, I’d be expanding the stables by next summer for all the babies. The new ones are due any day, that will distract him.” Eskel looked a little doubtful. “I didn’t say he’d forget – I’m certain he remembers every last horse that has ever been in his care. But it will distract him.”

When Barney was done getting Duchess ready, Eskel added his own pack to the mix, expertly tying it on, then he turned to Jaskier. Jaskier moved in easily, a crooked smile on his face. “Thank you, dearest – for everything,” he said seriously.

“It was my pleasure, Jaskier. You’re doing really well here, you know. Your people are happy, your guards coming along nicely. You’ll be as ready as anyone could be, when war breaks out to the south. I don’t think I’ve seen a happier place, even if its lord is so very sad.” He cupped Jaskier’s cheek gently. “I’ll visit the very next chance I get,” he promised.

“I am less sad already for knowing that.” He heaved a sigh. “You may tell Lambert, when next you see him, that Lettenhove is open to him – should he need somewhere safe. But I’ll require him to stick to the common rooms and stay out of the studies.”

“I’ll tell him – right after I punch him in the nose. I’ve a contract to fulfill, after all.” Jaskier laughed and Eskel grinned at him. “Be well, Sunshine.” He enfolded Jaskier into one of his tight, comforting hugs, and then turned to mount Duchess. Hands gentle on the reins, he guided her away, leaving Jaskier and Barney standing there, watching them go.

Barney sniffled, and without a word, Jaskier passed him a handkerchief. “They’ll keep each other safe, Barney.” It was small comfort for both of them.


	8. Chapter 8

Jaskier fell back into the normal rhythm of his routine, though he made a couple small changes. Namely, he set aside time to spend with each of the children on their own and made sure he was free with his praise and affection; he didn’t want any of them so doubting their worth that a single expression of approval could move them to tears. They had already been blossoming, and with the added individual attention, they absolutely exploded with energy, cheer, and affection that spilled over from Jaskier to the staff. The lunches with their parents every two weeks became a decided chore that they all got through, but as the children had been clamming up already, the visits had been becoming shorter and shorter. With their new confidence, their patience for their family’s attitude diminished, and the visits began to dwindle altogether as they were basically given up on.

It broke Jaskier’s heart in a whole new way to see. Rather than being glad their children were happy and thriving, his cousins and aunt were bitter and dismissive, writing them all off as lost causes.

Theo’s lessons with the healer continued to go very well, and Jaskier wrote to a friend at Oxenfurt to arrange for his arrival to study with the physicians’ college there the next spring. He’d been considering the fall, but he wasn’t quite ready to let the boy go, and it would be better if he were at least a little bit older. Shani wrote back quickly, pleased to sponsor him, and Theo almost fainted with joy when Jaskier informed him it was a done deal.

Roddy’s lessons with Alan were going well, too. Between his growing skill with a blade and Jirel’s report that military history in particular got him excited, Alan advised that the boy be sent to Oxenfurt to study with an eye towards a commission in the king’s army. When Jaskier spoke to him about the idea, Roddy danced around his room, mock-fighting enemies. It wasn’t to Jaskier’s preference; a soldier’s life was not safe, even a highly ranked soldier, but unless Roddy himself changed his mind, he wouldn’t say no.

Victor had developed an insatiable thirst for knowledge of all kinds, and wanted nothing more than to spend his life reading. He didn’t care what the topic was, he wanted to read everything he could get his hands on. Jaskeir had him pegged for a lifelong scholar, possibly, someday, a teacher.

Fierce Kara, he found, tended to draw. A lot. Every last bit of work she turned in to Jirel had drawings in the margins, quite credible sketches of everything from a quill to a sparrow, whatever caught her eye as she was working. Jaskier sent for proper paints and charcoals, and once they arrived, she was never wholly without a smudge of some kind somewhere on her, and very soon, her sketches and paintings started to fill the room that Jaskier had set aside for her use. A quiet word with Aidan had the finished works going up on the walls in between ancient tapestries and portraits of long dead ancestors, and she was so filled with pride that Jaskier thought she might burst if someone pricked her with a pin.

A dwarf showed up, hard eyed and suspicious. He was a blacksmith by trade, and though he didn’t come right out and say it, it was heavily implied that he’d been run out of his previous several towns in favor of human blacksmiths with inferior wares. After he claimed to specialize in weapons and armor, Jaskier sent him into town with Alan; if Alan was satisfied with whatever weapon he produced, Jaskier would keep him on to see to the weapons his guards had; perhaps even start creating better ones.

As it turned out, Alan was _very_ impressed with his work. He gave his name only as Sastuk, and with Alan’s approval, Jaskier hired him on. The smithy in town wasn’t going to work for sharing, not with the amount of work Sastuk had in front of him to produce superior weapons for the guards and then, later, for the townsfolk, so Jaskier ordered a new forge to be built to the dwarf’s specifications. The town blacksmith was initially put out, but when Jaskier made it clear that there was a specific division of labor between them, and his own work as farrier and town blacksmith wasn’t in jeopardy, he stopped grumbling. Sastuk didn’t want to mend pots and pans, but at least didn’t sneer over the needed work or insult the man doing it.

Another witcher drifted through town, a quiet, dark haired man named Aubry. He was uninjured but low on coin, but also disinclined towards sitting around eating and resting, and insisted on doing something around the place to earn his keep. Jaskier partnered him with Alan to work with the guards for a few days, and that appeased Aubry’s pride enough that he ate with Jaskier, Alan, and the children at meals. Barney, as an unexpected blessing, was reassured by caring for his mount; though he had seen Lambert’s mount was well cared for, having a second witcher’s mount be so healthy and scar free reassured him that his precious Duchess was going to be fine. Even with three new foals, he hadn’t stopped shooting Jaskier wounded looks at every chance he got. Aubry stayed only a week, but Jaskier was able to see him off with plenty of food, at least, and grain for his horse, though he would not accept extra coin that he didn’t feel he had earned.

Winter closed in on them, and Jaskier received a message via mage that Eskel was not going to make it there in time, even with Duchess, though he promised to make his way come spring for a visit. Jaskier sent one in return, informing him of the plans to send Theo off to Oxenfurt, and offering a paid post as escort for his heir if he was able to make it in time, considering that spring was when the monsters woke up _hungry_. If not, then at least Eskel would know when he planned to be home again, and could time his visit accordingly.

Overall, Jaskier was…content. It still ached whenever he thought of Geralt, and he suspected it always would. But in a way it was almost a comfort to know he wasn’t ever likely to see that particular witcher again, and at least would not have to face Geralt’s reaction to knowing his heritage. Jaskier wanted to believe that Geralt would be as accepting as Eskel had been, but he feared that wouldn’t have been the case. He thought Geralt might well feel deceived, even though Jaskier himself hadn’t had a clue, and even if he didn’t kill Jaskier, his anger would be worse than what it had been on that mountain.

The nightmares that he’d feared paid him a visit far more nights than he cared to count.

Winter passed much as the previous one had, with music and dancing, and a great deal of reading and planning for the spring. The herds had all grown, and so planting would have to be expanded. Sastuk had received all the raw ore that he’d wanted before the roads became impassable, and so a steady stream of apparently high quality swords and daggers emerged from his forge. Alan started teaching more of the townfolk to use the ones passed down from the guards, in addition to their lessons with knives and bows.

As spring approached, Theo began to get antsy, in his low-key, quiet way. Jaskier commissioned a whole new wardrobe for him to take with, as well as a large stock of blank notebooks, ink, and quills to start him off. The other three wanted to accompany them on the journey, and Jaskier spent a lot of time discussing it with Alan and Aidan; on the one hand, Jaskier definitely wanted to broaden their horizons. But on the other, the road was dangerous enough as it was, and traveling with four young children wasn’t entirely ideal. In the end, as their departure date drew nearer with no sign of Eskel, Jaskier regretfully told the younger three they would have to remain at home. Alan was confident in the skill of the guards that would be going with them, but their job would be easier with just Jaskier and Theo to watch over, rather than having to chase after three rambunctious children. Theo hadn’t been rambunctious a day in his life, and Jaskier was more used to long journeys than anyone else save Alan, who would be staying behind to help Aidan keep an eye on things.

The large family carriage was brought out and fixed up for the trip. The moment the weather turned warm and started to thaw everything out, it was packed up with travel essentials and Theo’s belongings, and they set out. At first, Theo plastered himself to the windows to watch the scenery, but after a couple of days, that activity palled considerably. Everything was chilly and damp and muddy as the snow melted and turned the roads into miserable mud trails, and nothing had started to bud up yet.

They passed the capitol of Kerack, though, and Theo again plastered his nose to the windows. Jaskier would have to stop and pay his respects to the king on his way back, but for the outbound journey it was more important to see his heir to Oxenfurt as quickly and safely as he could. They hadn’t announced the trip, but a stop there would advertise their travel and route to too many people, increasing the risk of bandits catching wind and attacking.

Eskel had never responded to his missive, so he wasn’t entirely sure when or even if he’d see the witcher again but found himself overjoyed halfway through Temeria when Eskel intercepted them. Jaskier was more confident with his friend’s presence and switched to riding one of the spare mounts during the day. He allowed Theo to as well, but the boy wasn’t very comfortable in the saddle, and found it too difficult to read while riding and soon switched back to the carriage.

The witcher took his job of escort very seriously and rode at the head of their little group. He vetted the inns they chose to stay at and tended to scout each area thoroughly when they had to camp at night. With Theo and the guards around them, and Eskel being so serious in his duties, there really wasn’t a chance to catch up. But with Eskel leading, the guards were also more confident, and their pace increased, so that they arrived a few days sooner than Jaskier had thought they would.

Jaskier took over as leader then. He booked the guards all into a large inn and gave them leave to rest while all the horses were tended to and pampered, and with just Eskel, showed Theo around the city. He very much doubted that Theo would need to know the best taverns to get drunk in, or the best brothels to throw away his pocket money in, but he at least glanced over those topics, much to Theo’s embarrassment.

He also showed him the best places in the library to study, and where the best bakeries were, and as many of Jaskier’s favorite spots as they could reasonably cover. Between them, he and Eskel also showed him how to avoid getting his pockets picked or purse snatched, and how to spot and avoid trouble brewing. Oxenfurt was huge, and crowded, and loud, and dangerous for a naïve country boy. Though he had insisted Theo learn a few basic self-defense moves, Theo had not been interested in the lessons like Roddy was, and had only a basic understanding. It was enough to gray Jaskier’s hair.

Fortunately, Shani was waiting, and Theo took to her quiet, commanding presence immediately upon being introduced. It would be a little bit to Theo’s detriment with his peers that he was being mentored by the dean right out the gate, but Shani was too well respected, and wielded too much power, for Theo to take much damage. And Theo himself was talented in the healing arts, genuinely knowledgeable and passionate about his chosen craft, along with being kind and caring; Jaskier doubted that he would ever have an enormous group of friends, but he would certainly end up with a very _close_ group of friends. And that was far better for him.

They stayed for a week, getting Theo settled as well as shopping. The Lettenhove tailor was skilled enough at his craft but was woefully rural and behind on the latest fashions. He also stocked up on books: ordering was all well and good, but he missed being able to peruse the bookstores himself to see what was out there. He found toys and trinkets for the kids. Immersed himself for a little while in the taverns where the bardic students tended to congregate. Basically reminded himself of what the rest of the world looked like, and reluctantly, grudgingly, packed the carriage back up, bade Theo farewell, and turned the horses towards home again.

The carriage was too full on the journey back for him to ride in it, which at least made Eskel laugh.

The journey back was not as smooth as the one out. They made it to just a bit south of Gors Velen and had to set up camp, and they apparently looked very tasty indeed; a group of devourers set upon them after dark. Jaskier had not seen one in years, and he could happily have gone years more without the pleasure. Eskel moved quickly to intercept while Jaskier called all the guards to grab the horses and bring them in close to the fire and hang on tight as their mounts caught the scent of the things and panicked. Those guards not hanging onto a horse made torches and stood in a loose barrier between the fight and the rest of them. Fire was at least somewhat of a deterrent for the things, though if they were hungry enough, or if they were close enough to their nest, the devourers would cheerfully ignore their own burning flesh in favor of killing all of them.

The fight was drawn out and brutal; Eskel was hampered by having to keep their attention on himself instead of the vulnerable humans. When it was finally done, Jaskier dispatched a couple of the guards to gather the corpses into a pile for burning while he sat Eskel down by the fire and pulled out medical supplies. Eskel had taken a few claws that had made it through his armor, and one very unpleasant bite to the calf. “I thought Theo was the healer of the family,” Eskel joked as Jaskier cleaned and bandaged and stitched where needed.

“Oh, he outstrips me by a mile,” Jaskier agreed proudly. “I’ve picked up my share, but I’m not good for much beyond straight injuries. Illnesses or anything requiring actual surgery? Count me out.” He finished the last stitch to the bite wound, covered it with salve, and wrapped clean bandages around it. Then he sat back on his heels and gave his friend a serious look. “You saved all our lives tonight. I can’t thank you enough.”

“It’s my job, Sunshine. And today it was my pleasure. I don’t need thanks.”

“You have it all the same, and your pay when we reach Lettenhove,” he said firmly.

“M’lord, they won’t burn!” One of the guards called, forestalling anything foolish Eskel might have said.

Jaskier raised an eyebrow at him. “Would you mind? We don’t have any oil or pitch or anything.”

Eskel tsk’d. “Poor planning there, Jaskier. All those years on the road and you didn’t think to bring anything that could burn devourers?”

“It’s the last few years of idleness, it’s softened my brain.”

Eskel made them drag the corpses even further away from the camp before setting them alight with a powerful igni. Even so, a few whisps of the stench still reached them, making the barely calmed horses shift and stamp nervously.

No one slept well that night, and the guards couldn’t wait to get back on the road again at the first hints of dawn on the horizon. The rest of the trip home was uneventful. They stopped in the capitol so that Jaskier could make his obligatory greeting to the king, who proved more interested in Eskel than Jaskier, and insisted they stay at least overnight so that he could talk to the witcher – or interrogate him about monsters, as it happened. The king was terribly impressed by the devourer bite on Eskel’s leg though it was mostly healed by then. Jaskier didn’t mind the delay too much, though he found the king’s bard to be inferior and uninspired, particularly when the man launched into a few of Jaskier’s own songs about Geralt and didn’t even come close to doing them justice. Eskel clamped a hand tightly to his knee under the table so that Jaskier couldn’t get up and rip the man’s lute away from his undeserving hands.

Probably for the best, all told.

They made it back to Lettenhove to much cheering and the palpable relief of the guards. Jaskier dismissed them for a couple days of rest, had the staff start unloading his bounty, and firmly dragged Eskel inside. The children swarmed him and then, upon seeing Eskel, swarmed _him_ instead. From somewhere, Eskel produced a vial for Kara, who shrieked with horrified delight at the stinking bit of devourer inside it, and clutched it like it was a priceless jewel. She would have dragged Eskel off there and then to describe the creature so she could draw it, except that Jaskier distracted her with the new paints and charcoals he’d bought her.

When all the kids had been greeted and gifted, Jaskier gently but firmly shooed them off to enjoy their loot so he and Eskel could have a chance to bathe and change clothes. Without prompting or asking, Eskel followed him into his rooms and locked the door behind them.

Eskel cemented his position as Kara’s favorite person in the entire world at dinner that night, when he solemnly dug out a bloodstained rag and handed it to her. “That is Lambert’s blood from when I broke his nose,” he assured her. “Contract fulfilled.”

She clutched it tightly in her little fist. “ _Good_. I hope it hurt a lot!” She stabbed her fork rather forcefully into her chicken and chewed it almost vengefully, as though she were chomping on a chunk of asshole witcher instead.

Jaskier shared as much of the journey as the kids wanted. He didn’t think it would do them any good to gloss over the danger or the boredom or the inconvenience of traveling such a long distance. Someday, each of them was likely to want to go out into the world, and while the world was beautiful and full of wonders, it was also full of devourers and having to go the bathroom behind bushes and sleeping with just a bedroll between you and the muddy ground. Not that any of that seemed to put any of them off in the slightest.

After dinner and story time was done, Kara firmly dragged Eskel away to her little studio for an hour, and when they emerged, she proudly showed off a very credible drawing of a devourer. Eskel was just as impressed as Jaskier was and mentioned how it was better than what he had seen in most bestiaries, which made her puff up so much Jaskier thought she might float away.

Eskel stayed with them for only a few days. He tried to argue Jaskier out of paying him for his work guarding their trip, and then, when that didn’t work, tried to argue him into a smaller payment. Jaskier gave him a flat, serious look. “Will you try to tell me what my life, what the lives of my guards, are worth? We would have died without you, Eskel. And yes, we are friends, but that doesn’t mean you don’t get paid for your work. I offered you a paid contract, now let me pay the damned contract!” He stepped in close and shoved the pouch of coins inside his tunic, then grasped his shirt and pulled him in those last few inches for a rough kiss. “When you come here to visit, you are my guest. I will feed you, house you, clothe you – all things I would do for any guest. When you share my bed, it is as my friend, and it’s not an obligation for either of us. But when there is work to be done and I hire you, let me pay you, dearest. Yours is a difficult job, and risks your life each time you go out, and you should be well compensated for that.”

“Alright, alright!” Eskel gave in ruefully. “You’ll have to pardon me for not being certain of the etiquette here, Jaskier. I am unused to rich, powerful friends. I’d save your life no matter what, you know that, right?”

Jaskier softened and gave him a sunny smile. “I do, dearest. But it _was_ an offered contract. Had Aubry showed up instead, I would have paid him. Hells, I would have paid _Lambert_ , so why on earth should you be treated differently in that respect? Now, take your pay, get on your horse before Barney makes her so fat she cannot walk, much less carry you, and go off to slay monsters and save maidens and babies across the land. Return to me whenever you can.” He glanced over his shoulder at the house. “And I suppose bring Kara back more monster guts, she put that vial in her jewelry box, it’s appalling, I have no idea where she gets that from.”

“Her adventurous cousin, who has filled her head with tales of life on the road and songs of witchers slaying monsters, perhaps?”

“I have never, in my life, wanted to save _bits_ of the monsters, Eskel, or at least not the squishy bits, because I grant you that the cockatrice feathers were very attractive and seemed incredibly sturdy and I would not have minded keeping just one to use, but we needed the coin more so.” He shrugged. “She wants the absolute ickiest, stinkiest bits.”

“And Vic wants me to look into growing fangs and claws,” Eskel said dryly. “I think the monster parts are far easier.”

“He refuses to acknowledge the logistical difficulties of such features. If you grow claws, darling, we will have to have a serious talk about where you plan to put them.”

Eskel threw his head back and laughed. Jaskier thought it was a good look on him and grinned right back. “You are one of a kind, Jaskier.” Eskel gave him a soft, lingering sort of kiss. “Never change. I’ll try to be back for mid-summer, alright?”

“Hmm, fantastic. We’ll be having a bonfire, and lots of music and dancing and drinking.” He carded his fingers through Eskel’s soft hair, then gave the silky strands a little tug. “Naked, sweaty witcher in my bed,” he said dreamily.

“You had a naked, sweaty witcher in your bed this morning,” Eskel pointed out.

“Hush, dearest, let a man have something to look forward to. As long as there are no claws.” He tilted his head, considering. “Fangs can be worked around, I suppose, but I would think kissing would be challenging, and I do so enjoy kissing.”

“No fangs or claws, I promise.”

“Good. Now, off you go, and _be careful_. You’re awfully reckless you know, always throwing yourself at various beasties. I’d like you back in one piece.”

“I’ve managed so far, I think I’ve got it down pretty well.” Eskel released him and swung up onto Duchess’s back. “If I am delayed, I’ll send a message,” he promised. “But I’ve commissioned something from Kara, so I’ll be trying my damnedest to get here.”

“You’ve commissioned something from Kara? What?”

“It’s a secret.” Before Jaskier could try to wheedle anything more from him, he touched his heels to Duchess and set off.

“Not fair!” Jaskier called after him.

Kara was just as reticent when he tried to find out more from her. For a child barely into double digits, she was shockingly good at keeping secrets. She even forbade him from entering her little studio. No matter what he tried, how he wheedled, he could not get her to give him so much as a hint. It was maddening but also quite adorable and gave him one hell of a glimpse into the woman she would become.

She would be amazing.


End file.
